


Straight Boy

by bazypitchandsimonsnow (ChessPargeter)



Series: Signs of Affection Prompts [8]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Friends to Lovers, Human Baz, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Oblivious Simon Snow, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChessPargeter/pseuds/bazypitchandsimonsnow
Summary: Simon Salisbury is totally straight...but there's this guy...Based on "request kiss" request.





	1. meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry I've been MIA in fic writing for awhile. This is why. Sooooo, I have zero self control, or sense of moderation, which lead to the existence of this thing. I was originally going to write a simple fluffy wedding fic (which I may still do one day), but then I saw [this post](https://bazypitchandsimonsnow.tumblr.com/post/177446761928/great-merlins-beard-shilol-uglyemo-please) and I NEEDED to write a fic based on it. And I wanted to incorporate the latest request too because it perfectly fit a scene I imagined in this. So I did, and I mostly like it. There's some rough parts which I'm eh about but I love the story overall. And I've been editing this thing to death for weeks and I need to stop. It's the first fic where my stupid doc title has ended up being the fic title lol. Also this is rated mature, but like, it's barely mature. It's closer to T than it is E if ya know what I mean. And finally, big thanks to Mrs_ZombieOctopus who is always a massive help with my writing and I love her so much <3 <3 <3 Anywho, this self indulgent mess is over 30k words so I'll post it in parts over the next four days. Enjoy! :D

**Simon**

“359, 360, 361!”

I run into the classroom ten minutes late. Despite this being my second year of uni, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s like a fucking maze. I’m lucky I wasn’t an hour late. But here I am, in the tiny little lecture hall, with about forty other students.

“Hello, Mr. Salisbury,” the professor drawls in a flat tone. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” I pant. “I’ll just, go sit down.”

Unfortunately, being late means there’s like no seats left. The only one I can see is at the very front of the tiny lecture hall. Great. I scurry over there with my head down and plop myself pathetically in the seat.

“Hello,” the man next to me says.

I turn my head, and nearly fall out of my chair.

Watford is a small university. You pretty much meet everyone in the first month. But I don’t know this guy. I would’ve remembered meeting him. Cause he’s, like, a fucking super model. His face is made of sharp lines and angles, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut someone and an impressive jawline. His skin is reddish-gold and practically fucking glowing. Wavy black hair hangs in front of his grey eyes. But they’re like, not just grey. They’re dark green and dark blue mixed together. I think I could look at them forever.

And that’s when I realise I’ve been staring at him like a creep this entire time.

“Hello?” He waves a hand on front of my face. “Did I break you?

I shake the fog from my head. “Sorry, sorry. Uh, hi. I’m Simon. I-I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“No,” he chuckles quietly. “I’d certainly remember meeting you.” I make a stupid squeaking sound, and I have no idea where it comes from. “I’m Baz, by the way. Lovely to meet you, Simon.”

“Yeah, same, Baz.”

“Gentlemen, please be quiet,” the professor announces.

“Deepest apologies, Miss. We’ll pipe down now,” Baz says. His voice is smooth and pleasant like honey. It wraps around my hearing and makes my chest twist. He could probably talk the pants off anyone. That’s an amazing and scary power for anyone to have. He winks at me before looking back at his notes. I make the squeak sound again, then turn to my own notes.

Class passes by without incident. I try to pay attention but it’s hard to listen to the sound of our boring prof’s toneless droning. Brain chemistry, blah blah, neurotransmitters, blah blah, response to stimuli, blah blah blah. I hate mandatory psych courses. I prefer social psych. Every once in awhile, my eyes drift over to Baz. His face is bored, blank, just watching the class and taking notes as he goes. Even so, he’s a lot more fun to look at than the powerpoint.

“That’s it, class. Please finish the readings for next week,” the professor says as she packs up his computer. Baz is doing the same, throwing the strap of his fancy leather book bag over his shoulder.

“Where you off to now?” I blurt out with no thought.

“Um,” he looks down at his phone screen. “White Chapel building. But I have no clue where that is.”

“Oh. I could show you. I’m done with class for the day.” Shit, am I this desperate for friends? I certainly sound desperate.

Baz’s mouth pulls up in a half smile. “Sure. I’d love some help.”

I nod rapidly. “Great, great, let’s go.”

We stroll out of the Tower building onto the Great Lawn. Watford advertises itself as a small uni with lots of green space, and it delivers. All the buildings were built sometime in the Victorian period. They’re big and dark and intimidating but also kinda elegant. The Great Lawn is enormous, with lots of student milling about and laughing and doing dumb shit. It’s amazing. I like it it here so much.

“So,” I say slowly, “you’re new here?”

Baz’s deep sea eyes flick over to me. “Is it that obvious? I was hoping I didn’t look too much like a lost puppy.”

I shake my head. “No, no, I’ve just never seen you around before. Watford isn’t that big. You learn everyone’s faces pretty quickly.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, I’m new. I transferred from Oxford this term.”

My eyes pop out of my skull. “Oxford?! You came here from Oxford? Oh, wow, that’s...surprising.” Who the hell would switch to Watford from bloody Oxford?!

He chuckles. It’s a really nice sound. “Yes, I know. I was at Oxford for economics, but I got an offer to do music here. It was too generous to turn down. And to be honest, I much prefer music over numbers.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. What do you play?”

“Violin. Dreadfully boring, I know.”

I shake my head again even more this time. “Nah, that sounds cool. Violin music is always epic as fuck in songs.”

Baz chuckles and tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. It’s such a shy schoolboy thing for someone so devastatingly handsome, and it’s sorta adorable. “Thank you. You’re probably the first person to ever say that.”

“Well, then, um, more people should,” I stutter nervously. I look up and see we’re at White Chapel. The stain glass reflects a rainbow at our feet. “Oh, we’re here.”

Baz looks up as well. He squints at the large white building. Probably because of the sunlight. “Huh, cool. Thanks for showing me the way, Simon.”

“No problem. And if, uh, you need to be shown around anywhere, I’m free.”

He nods slowly. “I’d like that. Should I give you my number? And you give me your’s?”

Why is my mouth suddenly so dry? “Y-Yeah, sure. Um, here.”

I fumble getting my mobile out of my pocket, unlock it, and pass it over to him. He hands me a sleek black iPhone. My uncoordinated fingers take a little longer while he deftly taps the number in, then hands it back. He’s listed himself as “Baz Grimm-Pitch” in the contacts. Holy shit, what a ridiculously posh name. I let out a loud snort and quickly cover my mouth. He gives me a curious look.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Just, your name...it’s sorta-”

“Ridiculous?” he says playfully. “I know, don’t worry. I’m English gentry. Our parents like to torture us with stupid names.”

I snort again. Christ, that sound is embarrassing. “Yeah, yeah, I can see that. I get it though. My mum decided to name me after the weather.”

He quirks a brow. “I didn’t realise ‘Simon’ was a weather phenomena.”

“No no, my middle name, I mean. It’s Snow. My middle name is Snow.”

He let out a snorting laughing. Just like I do. Though it looks cute on him instead of stupid like it is with me, in my opinion. He covers his mouth and tries to regain his composure. “I see. My deepest sympathies.” He looks down at his fancy silver watch. “Shit, I’m almost late. We’ll have to continue this discussion later. Have a good day, Simon. Or maybe I should call you Snow.”

I groan and roll my eyes. “God, I immediately regret telling you that.”

“Damage is done, I suppose. Pleasure meeting you, Snow.”

I groan but decide not to argue. There doesn’t seem to be any point. He offers his hand and of course I take it. His skin is strangely rough, especially callused along his fingers. For British gentry, his hand feels like a farm worker’s. Weird, but pretty cool. “Nice meeting you too. Catch you later, yeah?”

He nods once. “Certainly. Good day.”

With that, he lets go of my hand and saunters into the building. I get one last look at him. He somehow looks runway ready at university. His shoulders perfectly fill out his navy button down, which matches his black slacks. He’s...fucking perfect. How the hell did I end up talking to him? How the hell did he end up talking to _me?_

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, I guess.

* * *

 

I’m leaving the library when my pocket buzzes. I expect to see a text from Penny, probably telling me to do the dishes when I get back to our flat. But it’s not. The contact reads “Baz Grimm-Pitch” and I nearly drop my mobile. I haven’t heard from him in a few days. I was sure he’d forgotten about me. Which sucked, but y’know, shit happens. Yet here’s a text, right in front of my very eyes. With shaky fingers, I open the message.

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [11:56]  
_Hello, Snow. Sorry I haven’t contacted you. Arranging my new schedule has been rather taxing. But I’m free for a quick bite now. Would you like to meet up? I don’t know any good places to eat around here._

 **Simon Salisbury** [11:57]  
_yeah sure meet me @ white chapel? there’s a nice cafe nearby_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [11:58]  
_Sounds good. I’ll see you shortly._

Once I put my phone away, I realise that I probably replied way too quickly. Fuck. Penny tells me that replying to a text too fast looks desperate. I just want to make friends. I didn’t have many in school other than Penny and Agatha. And they were great, I’m not complaining. It’s just that uni is supposed to be an opportunity to meet new people, and in first year I was too focused on not failing to try. But now here’s this fucking amazing guy with a weird name who wants to hang out with me. How can I say no to that?

I walk over to White Chapel with some haste. I don’t want to be out of breath when I see Baz. He’s already standing at the entrance by the time I get there. He’s wearing blue slacks and a white button down with the sleeves rolled a quarter way up. He looks like one of those fancy pretentious artists from movies. Works for him of course. (Anything would probably work on him.) I wonder though, does he own anything except dress shirts and button downs?

“Hey, Baz!” I call out.

Baz’s head whips around. A soft smile plays on his face. “Hello, Snow. How are you?”

“Pretty okay. New semester, new headaches, y’know.”

He nods with a small laugh. “Don’t I know it. Now, I’m famished, where’s this place you mentioned?”

“Oh yeah! Follow me.”

The Goat Cafe is literally around the corner from White Chapel. I know every way to it off by heart of course, but luckily it’s super close now. I march towards it with Baz following right behind. Ebb grins as we walk in the big wooden door.

“Hey, Simon!” She says cheerfully. I rush up to hug her over the counter. “Weren’t you just here yesterday?”

“Oh, Ebb, you know I can’t stay away,” I tease. “And I’m introducing a new friend to your place.” Baz is standing a few feet back, looking very confused. I furiously motion for him to step forward. “Don’t be shy, man, Ebb doesn’t bite.” Baz cautiously comes towards us. “Baz, this is Ebb, owner of The Goat Cafe. Ebb, this is Baz, he just transferred here.”

Ebb offers her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Baz. Welcome to Watford.”

Baz visibly relaxes and takes her hand, giving it a firm shake. “Thank you, pleasure is all mine. Your cafe is lovely.”

“Thank you very much. Feel free to bring him again, Simon.”

“Will do,” I chirp. Baz’s eyes flick over to me, his mouth in that half smile again.

“You want the usual?” she asks as she steps towards her prep table.

“Yup. Think you can make something good for Baz?”

“Certainly. Baz, you’re not allergic to anything, are you, love?”

“Um, no,” Baz replies slowly.

“Wonderful. Your table is free, Simon. I’ll bring your food over in second.”

“Thank you!”

I walk towards the back of the store with Baz right behind me. There are a few students here and there, chatting or typing on computers. My table sits in a small alcove isolated from them all. I plant myself in the soft armchair. Baz sits opposite me, looking around the cafe with equal parts awe and confusion.

“Neat, huh?” I say.

“That’s certainly applicable, yes,” he chuckles. “You’re here a lot I assume.”

“Yeah. This place is practically my second home. I help Ebb out here over the weekends sometimes and I do all my finals revision in this spot.”

Baz nods thoughtfully. “Ebb seems very nice.”

“She so is. She used to go to Watford and took over the cafe when she graduated. Been running it amazingly ever since. She’s super sweet and makes the best food and coffee in town.”

He leans out to look at Ebb’s counter, frowning slightly. “I hope so. I didn’t exactly order anything.”

I wave my hand dismissively. “Eh. You don’t really order here. Ebb just gives you what you want.”

His eyebrow raise. He’s really good at that. “And she knows this how...?”

I shrug. “She just knows, man. Don’t ask me how. When I work here, she tells what to make and I make it. Every time, the person has loved it.”

“Hm, alright then.”

Baz leans back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. He puts his fingers together in front of him. His hair is slicked backed today, showing off his incredible widow's peak. Stting like that plus the hairstyle, he looks like some powerful mobster or Bond villain. It’s sorta awesome. And maybe kinda hot. Wait, where did that com-

“Alright,” Ebb announces as she swans in with two plates and two coffee mugs. “I’ve got a caramel latte and fresh sour cherry scone for Simon. And a slice of chocolate mousse cake with a pumpkin mocha breve for Baz. Enjoy, boys.”

“Thank you, Ebb.” I squeeze her hand and she pats my shoulder.

Baz looks at his drink cautiously. It’s orange with whipped cream on top. I’ve never seen it before. Must be a completely new creation for Baz. He takes a small sip, and his eyes bug out of his skull.

“You okay?” I ask immediately. Maybe it’s too hot.

“This is...” Baz whispers. “Fucking amazing.”

I grin ear to ear. “Told you, Ebb always knows.”

“Clearly. People always assume I want black coffee, but I actually have a massive sweet tooth. I’m like a bloody 5 year old in a candy shop.”

I snort, nearly spurting latte out my nose. Because imagining a tiny Baz running around a sweet shop taking everything in sight is the most fucking hilarious thing I've ever heard. “Yeah," I say, still choking on some coffee. "Would not have guessed that about you.”

He rolls his eyes and decides to focus on his cake. He cuts off a small chunk and eats it delicately. Not a single crumb gets around his lips. Wow, I’ve never seen someone be able to eat with so little mess. Me, on the other hand, I get lots of scone crumbs and slightly melted butter around my mouth. I gave up on eating neatly a long time ago.

“Uh, Snow, you’ve got some stuff...well, everywhere.” Baz giggles. Fucking _giggles_. It’s small and delicate, two words I'd never associate with him. Yet, it's still a pretty incredible sound.

“I’m fine,” I say as I grab my napkin. “So, how’s your first week here been?”

Baz sighs as he leans back in his chair, holding his coffee close. “Well, it’s been slightly chaotic. Transferring my credits, getting my school funding arranged, catching up with my peers, it’s all such a hassle.”

“But, do you like it?

He nods without hesitation. “Oh, absolutely. I’m very glad I transferred. Oxford was dreadfully boring, and economics made me want to bang my head on the table. Watford is much nicer. I prefer smaller unis. And I certainly prefer studying music. I’ve been playing violin since I could hold it up. It’s nice to spend more time learning.”

“Wow, you've been playing for that long?"

"M-hm"

"That’s incredible.”

He smiles as he sips his coffee. “Thank you.” His head tilts to the side, making a few strands of black hair fall out of place. “What do you study? I realise I haven’t asked you yet. Apologies.”

I shake my head. “Nah, it’s fine. Not that interesting anyways.”

“I doubt that. You don’t seem like someone who would do anything boring.”

I nearly drop my scone in shock. (Now that would be a travesty.) But how could I not after a compliment like that? Anyone else would be surprised, right? “T-Thanks, I guess,” I chuckle.

“No problem. So what are you studying?”

“Oh, right. I’m actually going into social work.”

Baz looks very pleased, eyes widening and smile pulling up. “That’s not boring at all. Social work is incredibly interesting.”

I look away, because I’m honestly shy at any compliment. “Glad you think so.”

“What sort of people do you hope to work with?”

“Children, mostly. Help foster kids, orphans, that sort of thing. The system isn’t that great. I just want to help as much I can, y’know?”

Baz looks even more please, bright white teeth showing in his smile. “You’re quite the hero, I see,” he drawls, teetering on the edge of sarcastic but not exactly.

I chuckle, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Well, I don’t know about _that."_

“I’d say it’s a fair interpretation.”

I have no idea what to say. I can’t tell how serious he is. He’s sort of teasing, but still sweet. So I just shrug and take a sip of my coffee. Baz takes another bite of his cake. I have trouble figuring out what to say around him. How do you talk to someone so cool? Pick easy topics, I guess.

“So, uh,” I say through a bite of my scone, “you gonna do any extra curricular stuff? My Mum keeps trying to get me involved in stuff for fun so I’ve got like, a hundred club names she’s sent me if you need ideas.”

Baz giggles again and runs a hand over his hair. “Christ, do I know that feeling. My mother is exactly the same. Though she’s more ‘networking’ if I want to get into a masters program.”

“Sounds very hoity toity,” I say without thought. Shit, that’s his mum I’m talking about! “Sorry, sorry, that was so rude. I speak before thinking a lot.”

Baz waves dismissively. “Oh, it’s fine. She is very ‘hoity toity.’ It took a lot of convincing for her to let me transfer out of Oxford. Her condition was that I get a minor in psychology and my masters. So, she wants me to ‘network.’ Join committees and clubs, meet professors, all that.”

“Huh, okay, I get that sorta. Got any ideas?”

“Some. Music committee, film appreciation club, maybe the LGBT council.”

My head snaps up, and the question is off my tongue before I can stop it. “Wait, are you gay?” Shit, I’m so nervous around him my minimal filter is totally gone. I groan and hold my head. “Sorry again. I’m so bad at speaking. Mum always says I need to chew my words before I spit them out.”

Baz doesn’t get angry, surprisingly. Instead, he fucking laughs. I look up and see him with a hand over his mouth, trying to hold back the snorty sounds. “It’s fine, Simon, really," he sputters. "It’s adorable, actually.” I make that squeak noise, just like the day we first met. “And yes, I am gay. Completely. Was it not obvious?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. My gaydar is pretty shit, according to my flatmate. And I didn’t want to assume. My profs teach us to never make assumptions, y’know?”

“True, very true. Glad it’s all cleared up now, though.”

Huh, I’ve never been friends with a gay bloke before. There wasn’t a huge amount of sexuality diversity at my old school. It’s cool. Not that Baz is just my token gay friend. He’s just a new friend who happens to be gay. Which is cool, obviously. Cause I think he’s really cool, and I really like being around him.

He glances down at his watch and frowns. “Ugh, I’ve got a meeting with my advanced music theory prof. He offered to help me catch up a bit. Not sure if I’ll learn anything new but whatever. Sorry I have to keep running off.”

“It’s fine, man. Want me to walk you there?”

He nods with a small smile. “I think I’d like that.”

Baz downs the rest of his coffee and finishes his cake, still without making a mess somehow. He pays his tab with Ebb. I don’t though. Pay my tab, that is. Ebb always tells me it’s on the house and refuses to accept my money. She says my very low wage work is payment enough for all the scones I want. She’s awesome.

The two of us walk together to the Music Hall. Baz simultaneously praises and complains about his program. He says it’s very demanding and his fingers already hurt, but he loves the challenge. He reminds me of Penny in that way. He asks me about my courses too. I explain that I like the subjects but have a hard time focusing.

“Like, I wanna pay attention cause I _am_ interested,” I say frantically. “But while I’m trying to listen to the lecture, my brain is also like: ‘hey who was the better Doctor, Matt Smith or David Tennant?’”

Baz chuckles. “Your brain certainly has its priorities straight”

“Oh totally. It’s an important question.”

“I wish I had an opinion to offer, but I’ve never watched Doctor Who.” My jaw falls to the ground. Baz looks at me confused. “What?”

“How have you never watched Doctor Who?!”

He rolls his eyes as much as he possibly can. “Don’t give me that, you sound like my cousin. I’ve just never gotten around to it. And it’s not like my parents ever watched it. They’re too pretentious for any pop culture, of course.”

I shake my head. “You’re so deprived, man. You really should watch it.”

“I should, should I?” He asks with a singular raised brow. How does he do that? Did he practice in the mirror?

“Yeah! And you can totally text me what you think. I’d really like to know.”

He has a pleased smile. “Alright. I’ll get right on that.”

“Awesome!”

Baz looks up at the Music Hall. It’s old and grand like everything else. It's also got a huge violin carved over the door. Huh. Never noticed that before.

“Well,” he sighs, “this is my stop. Let’s do this again, alright?”

“Yeah, totally. Text me, okay?”

“Will do. See you later, Snow.”

“See you, Baz!”

He walks into the building, and I watch him go, for the second time in a week. I like it. Maybe I should make it a regular thing. I don’t mind walking him places, and I want to see him again. I’m glad to have a new friend.

* * *

 

 **Simon Salisbury** [18:09]  
_wtf r u on about?! the slitheen r terrifying!_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [18:10] **  
** _They’re snot coloured humanoids with beer guts and teddy bear eyes who fart constantly. I find small yappy dogs more intimidating._

“Simon.”

 **Simon Salisbury** [18:10]  
_ur so full of it man_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [18:11]  
_Not all of us are scaredy cats, Snow._

 **Simon Salisbury** [18:11]  
_take that back!_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [18:12]  
_Make me :)_

“Simon.”

 **Simon Salisbury** [18:13]  
_u can be such a bastard y’know_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [18:13]  
_Yet here you are texting me._

 **Simon Salisbury** [18:14]  
_ok ur an entertaining bastard_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [18:14]  
_Damn right ;)_

“Simon!”

My head snaps up. Penny is glaring at me from the other side of our tiny dining room table. Her book is closed now. Wow, she must be upset. There’s very little that keeps Penny from reading.

“Yeah?" I ask.

“Who on Earth are you texting? And must you do it so loudly?” She says with exasperation.

“Loudly? I’m just texting.”

“Yes, but you’re reacting to every text with a loud laugh or gasp. So who the hell are you texting to make you react like that?”

Shit, I didn’t even realise I was doing that. I put my phone down. “Oh. I, uh, made a new friend last week.”

Her eyebrows shoot up as she adjusts her glasses. “Really?”

“Yeah. His name is Baz. He’s a music student at Watford and I’m getting him to watch Doctor Who.”

“And you’re sure he’s real?”

I kick her foot under the table. She snickers. “Shut up, he’s fucking real.”

“Good to hear.” She takes a bite of her lemon chicken. Conversations don't stop us form eating. We have terrible manners. “So he’s nice?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta.”

She gives me a suspicious look over her glasses. “Sorta? Should I be concerned.”

I shake my head. “No no, definitely. He’s really cool and I like being around him. It's just the more we’ve talked, I’ve found he’s snarky and likes to be sarcastic. But he's nice overall. Sort of like you.”

She crosses her arms and lifts her nose. “No one is like me, Simon.”

“Sure, Pen,” I chuckle

“I still don’t understand your need for so many friends, Si. One or two is good enough for me.”

I shtug up to my ears. “I like people. I like being around them and helping them and all that. They just, don’t seem to like me a lot. Baz does, for some reason. It’s...nice.”

Penny’s face sort of falls. Not full on pity, because she knows I wouldn’t want that, just sympathetic. She reaches over and pats my wrist. “Glad you’ve got another friend, Si. Just know I won’t be replaced.”

I bark a laugh. “Don’t worry, Pen, no one can replace you.”

“Damn right.” She cracks open her book again. “Bring him over sometime. I want to vet this guy properly eventually.”

“Will do, Pen, will do.”

Penny goes back to reading, absorbed back into her world of British working class history. I look down at my phone to see a new text.

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [18:21]  
_They blew up Downing Street?! I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, honestly._

I laugh too loudly. Penny gives me a disapproving look. I mouth ‘sorry’ and actively keep my lips sealed.

 **Simon Salisbury** [18:22]  
_idk about that but it’s pretty fucking epic_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [18:23]  
_Very much agreed. There are certainly some buildings I would like to blow up. Starting with the house of the kid who picked on me in 4th year._

 **Simon Salisbury** [18:23]  
_Petty much?_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [18:24]  
_Damn right, darling ;)_

Oh. So he likes fun friend pet names. Huh, cool. I realise I’m grinning. I can’t stop grinning. This is just, fucking great.

* * *

 

“No, no, Tennant is so much better than Eccleston.”

Baz shakes his head with a frown. “I disagree. I much prefer Eccleston’s roughness. Tennant just feels too clean. He doesn’t have as much of an unpolished edge.”

“But that’s the point!” I start walking backwards so I can look right at Baz and move my arms around easier. Hopefully I don’t clothesline into someone else walking down the street. “Tennant looks all clean and fun, but then he gets dark. And you realise his cleanness hides his pain. Like, that line in the Krillitane episode? ‘I’m so old, I used to have so much mercy.’ It gave me chills, man, fucking chills!”

He chuckles, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “Alright, you’ve proved your point. You can stop with the wild hand gestures.”

I feel my face flush slightly. I stick my hands in my hoodie pockets and go back to walking beside him. “Sorry. It’s easier to gesture than to talk sometimes.”

Baz suddenly looks upset. His mouth goes flat and his eyes go wide. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. Your hand gestures are fine. You’re animated and excited about your passions, it’s wonderful.”

Oh. That’s nice of him. My stomach feels funny. Man, I must still be hungry. Guess my left over pizza wasn’t enough breakfast for my bottomless stomach.

“Thanks,” I sort of whisper. My voice isn't working properly.

Baz smiles, and for some reason that makes me feel better.

“So, Simon,” he says grandly, “what’s today’s excursion for? I’m technically supposed to be practising.”

“You practice violin enough, Baz,” I groan. “And this is for your benefit. Now, I notice you seem to only own button downs and slacks, hm?”

He looks down at his current ensemble of white button down and ash grey slacks. “Well, it’s not all I own. But...it’s most.”

“Exactly.” I poke his chest. Christ, what is he, made of rock? “You dress like a stuffy Oxford economics student. You’re a laid back Watford music student now. Time to look like one.”

He gives a very confused, slightly doubtful look. “Seriously?”

I nod vigorously. “Yeah, so serious.”

“Simon, I don’t have a lot of money. My parents may be rich but they keep me on a small budget. Want to teach me about the importance of a pound and all.”

“Don’t worry, I anticipated that.” I stop and gesture grandly across the street. “Ta-da!”

Baz squints very hard. It must hurt his face to do that. “What am I looking at?”

“Uh,” I shake my arms for emphasis. “That, man. It’s right there.”

Baz growls and stops squinting, rummaging around in his pockets. “Hang on a moment.” He digs around for another minute, then pulls out a small plastic case. He opens it to reveal...holy shit.

Baz puts on the wire frame glasses and he stops squinting. They sit on his long nose easily. Hell, they work with his entire face. The square frames compliment his sharp cheekbones and make his pretty grey eyes bigger. I’m so stunned that I barely noticed he's talking.

“A thrift store?” he chuckles. “How hipster chic. I suppose that’s one way to get new clothes.” He turns to me, and looks very confused at my gaping jaw. “What? Did your brain break, Snow?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, sorry. Just, um, I didn’t realise you wore glasses.”

Baz's cheeks instantly flush. He quickly pulls them off his face and puts them back in his case. “Yeah, not usually,” he grumbles, shoving them in his pocket. “ I just can’t see stuff that’s far away, so I don’t wear them a lot. They’re so stupid looking.”

“No, they look cool,” I blurt out, then immediately shut my mouth. Because Baz doesn’t need my opinion on his eyewear. Probably doesn’t want it either.

“You really think so?” His voice is almost playful. I look over, and Baz is smiling, just slightly. That’s definitely better than him looking embarrassed.

“Uh, yeah, totally.” His smile gets bigger. “C’mon, let’s go.”

We walk across the street and into the front door. The thrift store, for some reason weirdly called The Wavering Wood, is an old Watford institution. Every student knows this store is the best place to get good clothes for cheap. Baz shouldn’t be an exception.

“Welcome to W Wood,” I say grandly. “Home of cheap clothes for poor students.”

Baz looks around the old plaster walls with trees painted on them, rusty coat racks that are made to look like bushes, and creaky wooden shelves with fake pine branches taped on. (Though now I wonder how much of it he can actually see.) He likes it, nodding in approval at everything.

“Huh, cool,” he says cheerily. “So what should I get here?”

“Anything you can afford, man. Just maybe not the athletic clothes section. It always smells a bit rank.”

Baz chuckles and nods. “Understood. Let’s see what we can find.”

We start sorting through the piles and racks of mismatched clothes. Lots of fabric flies and gets crumpled as I search. Baz is much more neat. But he’s obviously never been to a thrift store before. He keeps trying to find stuff in perfect condition. I tell him that you just have to find the best you can here. He looks slightly disgusted, but doesn't complain. He soon pulls out some folded t-shirts and carries them like a waiter tray. I go to the denim rack, flipping through the different trousers. I can feel as Baz leans over me from behind.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Finding you some jeans,” I reply easily.

“I don’t wear jeans.”

“There’s a first time for everything though.” I turn my head. Baz still looks doubtful. I nudge his shoulder. “C’mon, give it a shot.”

Baz twists his mouth for another moment but shakes his head in surrender. “Fine, I’ll try. No guarantee I'll like them.”

I grin and grab a couple more pairs. “Awesome. Let’s go the changing room.”

The changing rooms are really just some old plywood boards set up in box formation. There’s an IKEA bench just outside for someone to wait. I shove the jeans at Baz, making him stumble slightly. I lounge on the cheap bench. He gives me an exasperated look before going behind the door.

“These shirts smell like pine and mothballs,” Baz proclaims with posh annoyance.

“Oh, get over it, you posh baby,” I shout back.

Baz scoffs loudly. “Sorry I don’t want my clothes to remind me of a grandmother’s closet, Snow. Bloody hell, these jeans are tight!”

“Ever heard of skinny jeans?”

“Yes. They’re worn by hipster idiots.”

I roll my eyes. ‘Pretentious’ is a really good descriptor for him sometimes. “You don’t have to buy them, Baz. Just give them a try, okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “I think they look stupid.”

“Well, let me see at least.”

The door creaks open. I let my my head loll to the side. And then I nearly fall off the bench. Because holy fucking shit I have never seen someone look better in their clothing. Baz’s shoulders perfectly fill out the green v-neck, straining the fabric just enough. His arms, before mostly hidden by sleeves before, are long and graceful. And why the hell has Baz never worn jeans before? His legs are toned as fuck, the tight black denim showing every curve of his muscles. He looks, just incredible.

“Wow,” I gasp.

Baz tugs at his collar and tries to pull up the waistline. “It’s dumb, isn’t it? I’ll take it off-”

“No, no!” I stand up and push his hands away. “No, definitely not dumb. You look fucking amazing, Baz.”

His mouth morphs into a shy smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. Seriously, you should dress like this more often.” Shit, that’s too pushy. “I mean, only if you want to. You should dress in a way that makes you feel comfortable.”

Baz’s smile gets less shy, more a cocky smirk now. He looks down at the outfit again, rolling the cotton between his fingers and examining the denim. “Maybe those hipsters are on to something.”

I sigh with relief and grin. “Glad you think so.”

We go silent for a long moment. It takes me a while to realise I’m still holding one of Baz’s hands. His skin scratches pleasantly on mine. They hang together loosely between us. Fuck, way to look desperate, Simon. I pull away and shove my hand in my own pocket, desperately hoping the heat in my cheeks isn’t the embarrassed flush I know it is.

“So you wanna try on the other stuff?” I say quickly.

Baz sighs sarcastically. I look up and he’s smirking. He’s good at that. “I suppose they’re all worth a try.”

I nod rapidly. “Cool, cool. Want to go to Ebb’s when we’re done?”

“Sure. I want another more of those pumpkin mocha breves. They’re addicting as fuck.”

I chuckle as I fall back on the bench. “Yeah, Ebb’s stuff tends to do that. Now c’mon try on the grey shirt. It’ll go with your eyes.”

Baz flashes me another smirk. Why does my chest feel weird? “As you wish, Snow.”

* * *

 

“C’mon, Simon, five more minutes,” Penny says.

I slump forward on the treadmill, barely holding my aching body up. “Kill me,” I groan.

Penny rolls her eyes. “Big baby.”

She’s still running upright, going much faster than me, while my lungs are burning like the fires of hell. People always assume I’m super fit cause I’m broad and somewhat muscular looking, but in reality I’m a total mess since graduating high school. I used to do fencing but there’s no fencing at Watford, so I’ve let myself go. Plus I work part time at a bakery with some of the best pastries in the city. So, definitely not healthy. But Penny is trying to change that, dragging me with her to the uni gym more and more. And currently, I am paying the price for every scone I ate yesterday at work.

“Pen,” I pant, “if I don’t stop now, I’m going to pass out. Or be sick. Or both.”

She groans and shakes her head. “Ugh, fine. Go change. I’ll meet you outside in fifteen minutes.”

“Awesome.”

I practically fall off the machine, nearly landing on my arse. My legs feel like jelly. It’s a miracle I don’t fall flat on my face as I walk to the change room. I do wobble back and forth, probably looking like a drunk.

After stripping off my sweat soaked shirt and gym shorts, I immediately get under the shower. Fuck, the hot water feels good on my aching muscles. Everything sort of unwinds under the steaming heat. Finally I can relax. I’m going to collapse the second I get home and not get up until the fucking apocalypse.

Once I’m done, I wrap my towel around my waist and walk towards the change area. My feet make wet slapping sounds on the tile. It rings loud in the empty room. I get my gym bag from the locker and start getting dressed. It’s a trial, considering my arms and legs won’t work. I nearly fall over more than once. I’m so focused on not toppling over that I don’t hear the melodious humming until it’s right behind me.

“Snow?”

My head whips around. Yup, there’s Baz Grimm-Pitch, standing right behind me, only wearing a towel. I stumble backwards and fall on my arse.

“Oh shit,” he says with genuine worry. “You alright?”

I scramble upright. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Sorry, you just surprised me. And the treadmill has destroyed my legs.”

Baz chuckles, walking into the change area and taking the bench across from me. “I understand. I was just on the cross trainer and everything burns.” He turns his head slightly so I catch a glimpse of his pretty grey eye. “Funny, I’ve never seen you here before. And I’ve been here quite often.”

Oh. He goes to the gym a lot. That explains his incredibly fit body. Which I can see all of now. My stomach and chest both feel _really_ weird. “Uh, yeah, I don’t come here a lot. My flatmate drags me along sometimes. She wants me to get in shape.”

“She’s smart. I’m just trying to not let myself go before football season.”

“You play football?” Ugh, duh Simon, he pretty much just said that, you moron.

“Yeah, since high school. I’m going to try out for the Watford team next term. Hopefully I’m good enough.”

“I think you’ll be great.” I’m being nice but I also mean it. I can see Baz kicking some serious arse on the football pitch.

He smiles and nods at me. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll see you at a game or two?”

I nod back vigorously. I see his smile one more time before he turns his head. Then he drops his towel.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my _god!_ He’s naked! Baz is fucking naked and I’m fucking staring at him like a goddamn creep. But I can’t tear my eyes away. He looks amazing in clothes, sure, but even better out of them. He’s slim and fit, made of firm muscles _everywhere_. And I know that because my creeper eyes keep falling to his tone arse no matter how much I try to stop myself. I’ve never been that impressed with anyone’s arse before, but I can’t stop looking at his. Holy shit he looks amazing, and incredible, and sort of se-

Wait, why do my trousers feel weird? Is...is that...? Oh shit.

I throw on my shirt and furiously stuff everything else in my gym bag. Except my hoodie. I tie it around my waist, hoping the hanging sleeves will hide my...problem.

“I-I gotta go meet Penny, my flatmate,” I say very quickly. “I’ll see you later, Baz.”

“See you, Snow,” he replies nonchalantly, as if the entire fucking world isn’t fucking imploding.

I speed walk out of change room and down the hallway until I’m well out of sight of the entrance. I’m panting as I lean against the wall, head tilted back. Okay, what the fuck was that?! That came out of absolutely nowhere. I’ve never “reacted” so suddenly to anything or anyone. But I did to Baz. Baz, who’s a guy. I “reacted” incredibly fast to a _guy_. Even though I know I’m straight. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm straight. I had a girlfriend for three years. I hooked up with a few girls I met at parties last year. But now there's Baz. Did I not actually like Agatha and those girls? Have I been gay all along? I don't feel gay though. I feel the same. I don't know. It's just too confusing. I don't want to think about this. It makes my head hurt.

“Simon?” I jump almost a metre in the air. Penny stumbles back, arms up defensively. “Jesus, Si, twitchy much?”

I put a hand to my chest, feeling my speed demon heart. “Sorry, Pen,” I pant. “I was just lost in thought.”

“Obviously. You ready to go? I want to get lunch.” She slings her bag over her shoulder. I do the same, though my hands are still shaking.

“Yeah, me too. Let’s go.”

I walk a lot faster than usual. I have to literally walk away from my brain now. From every confusing thought and “reaction” I’m having right now. I need to not think about what the fuck is going on with me.

* * *

 

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [13:04]  
_Hey, are you busy this Saturday?_

 **Simon Salisbury** [13:04]  
_nah i’m free_

 **Simon Salisbury** [13:04]  
_why??_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [13:06]  
_Would you like to come over to my place then? I’m attempting to cook on my own for once and could use a guinea pig._

 **Simon Salisbury** [13:07]  
_hdprtuertsoaevwej_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [13:07]  
_?_

 **Simon Salisbury** [13:08]  
_srry i dropped my phone_

 **Simon Salisbury** [13:09]  
_but yeah i’d love to come over_

 **Simon Salisbury** [13:09]  
_hopefully ur food doesn’t kill me lol_

 **Baz Grimm-Pitch** [13:10]  
_Very funny, Snow. I don’t think I’m that incompetent. I’ll send you my address and see you then?_

 **Simon Salisbury** [13:11]  
_awesome_

 **Simon Salisbury** [13:11]  
_:)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Simon isn't homophobic obviously, he's just confused and doesn't want to think about how his attraction to Baz changes how he thinks of himself. I based it off my own experience trying to decipher my sexuality tbh. I kept saying I was straight loooong after I knew I liked girls lol. And I think an introspection-phobic person like Simon would also be like "I can't figure this out so I'm just gonna keep thinking I'm straight instead of deciphering a new identity." That's just my opinion though. Hope you liked that! Tomorrow, "together" :D


	2. together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh this chapter is fuuuuun :) I loved writing all this fic but especially this chapter. Also, forgot to mention it last chapter, but yes "Baz in glasses" is BACK baby!!! I love this HC and I will keep putting it in fics until I die. Well, enjoy this chapter :D

I have to do a double take of the building. I check the address Baz text sent me, and it’s right. This fancy ass mostly glass white condo is definitely the right place. Well, Baz said his family was rich, maybe they bought him a whole condo for uni? Yeah...

I walk and type in the buzzer code Baz gave me. It rings low and loud, until a very pissed off voice comes on. And it’s definitely not Baz.

“What?!” The posh woman barks out. I instinctively step away.

“Uh, I’m here to see Baz?” I say with extreme caution. “I’m Simon, by the way.”

“Oh, right, Basilton said you were coming.”

Basilton? What? Okay, not important right now. There’s an obnoxiously loud buzz and the door unlocks. I rush in and go towards the elevator. It’s all cold grey fancy steel. I feel very intimidating as I go up to the twenty fifth floor. Luckily, Baz’s flat is just to the right, so I don’t get lost. (Penny says I get lost turning left.) I knock on the door lightly. A few heavy steps come towards me, then the door swings open, making me take a step back.

This woman is definitely not Baz, but I’m pretty damn sure they’re related. Same skin tone, same grey eyes, same black hair. Though she has a thick white blonde streak at the front. I can’t tell if it’s dyed or natural. She’s wearing a leather jacket and ripped jeans with old Doc Martens. She looks like she just came out from a seventies punk bar, and she was the headline act.

“Uh, hello,” I say very cautiously. “I’m Simon.”

“So, you’re Simon,” she replies with a weird suspicion. “You’re shorter than I thought you would be.”

“Um, sorry?”

“Fiona!” I hear Baz shout from behind her. He appears suddenly, glasses on top of his head, hair falling in a lazy wave over his angry face. He's dressed in a loose white shirts and blue jeans we picked out at W Wood. Wait, are jeans his lazy clothes? Huh, odd. He looks good, so whatever.

“Stop picking on Simon,” he growls at the women, apparently called Fiona, glaring viciously. Fiona glares right back.

“I wasn’t picking on him,” she says with bite.

Baz rolls his eyes dramatically. “Of course you weren’t.” He finally looks at me and immediately grins. “Hi, Snow, glad you could make it. This is my Aunt Fiona. Please ignore her. She’s over protective, like an old pit bull.”

Fiona scoffs loudly and smacks his arm. “I am not old, you wanker! I’m only thirty eight!”

“Not the important thing here. Now, Fiona, don’t you have somewhere to be?” He raises one eyebrow impossibly high. Fiona glares even harder.

“This is my apartment, y’know.”

 _“Our_ apartment now. And you’re going to Nicky’s. Seriously, why don’t you two just get a flat together and give me the place to myself 24/7?”

Fiona rolls her eyes. Wow, I can see where Baz gets it from. “Please, we’re too new for that.”

“You’ve known each other since high school.”

“But only been dating for a few months. We’re still in the sexy honeymoon phase, Basil,” she says with a wink. My cheeks heat up, Baz is obviously unimpressed, and Fiona looks very smug. I feel like I’m intruding on a much larger conversation.

“Fiona,” Baz sighs, “please, just go see your boyfriend. Come back tomorrow.”

She sighs over dramatically. “Fine. Leave my kitchen and living room in working order by the time I come back, please.”

Baz sighs in the exact same way. “Yes, of course, now go!”

Fiona walks past me, patting my shoulder as she goes. “Nice meeting you, Simon. Have fun.” Her nails dig into my skin for a brief moment. Not enough to really hurt but enough to sting. I don’t think she likes me that much...

Baz physically pushes Fiona out the door. She flips him off. He groans and gestures me inside. “Sorry about that. Come in, come in. I’ve almost got supper ready.”

I follow in after him, unzipping my hoodie, since this fancy place is certainly well heated. “It’s fine, man. I didn’t know you lived with your Aunt.”

“Yeah, sorry, never came up. She lives close to campus so it was easier to just take her extra room instead of trying to find another place. And I think my parents want her to spy on me for them.”

I chuckle as I kick off my trainers. “And how is that working out? She didn’t strike me as someone who would tattle to your parents.”

Baz’s lip pulls up into a smirk. “Well, she likes to be a shit and pretend she’ll tell them about my activities. But at the same time, she let me smoke half her joint last night while we watched Monty Python and ate peanut butter from the jar.”

“Oh my god,” I giggle. “That sounds amazing!’

“It certainly was. Now come on, I’m starved.”

We walk down the short hall into the actual apartment. I have to stop myself from gasping. The whole place is kinda intimidating but cool. It’s like what you see in catalogues. All white walls, modern furniture, and large bay windows with a view of the steel and brick horizon. Though there’s also enough personality to it to show that two people live here. There's lots of photos on the walls of Baz and Fiona and people who look enough like them to be relatives. Some old books are spread out on the coffee table, with lots of sticky notes on the pages in Baz's wispy handwriting. And next to the volumes are rolling papers I can safely assume are Fiona’s. Looks like a fun place to live.

“Just nearly burned supper, goodness,” Baz chuckles.

I follow his voice into the kitchen. It’s all white with fancy high tech chrome appliances. Baz is bending over the oven, making the denim stretch across his arse. I blush and avoid looking. The memory of...that part of his anatomy is still burned into my brain. It never goes away, just fades and pops back up at literally the worst possible moments. Like late at night, persuading my hand to “accidentally” slip into my pants. Or right now, when I _really_ can’t let my hand go anywhere to relieve the heat he makes in my stomach. Fuck, my head hurts.

“Perfect,” Baz says cheerily. “Cooked all the way through.” He pulls out a pan with two herb covered chicken breasts and oily asparagus stalks. He opens the pot on top of the stove. It’s filled with absolutely divine tomato sauce. My eyes get very wide.

“Wow,” I gasp. “When you said you were making supper, I thought you meant boxed pasta or some shit.”

Baz smiles smugly. “I’m classier than that, Salisbury.”

His smirk makes my stomach even hotter. I shrug. “Guess I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“Damn right. Now go sit down, I’ll bring the plates out in a second.”

He gestures to the large glass dining table near the window. There’s two rich crimson placemats across from each other, twin wine glasses already filled. The lights are low, matching the setting sun. Everything is soft orange, red, and violet. It’s really nice. This is the fanciest supper set up I've ever seen. And Baz did it for me. He's so nice. My knees wobble a bit as I take my chair. Baz soon comes out with two full plates.

“Dinner is served,” he announces grandly, placing the food in front of me. It’s chicken, asparagus, and some unfamiliar rice dish. It’s got lentils, fried onions, chickpeas, macaroni noodles, and that amazing tomato sauce all on top. My mouth immediately starts watering.

“Thank you,” I reply as he sits down. I wait for him to unfold his napkin and everything to be polite. Mum taught me that. But it’s hard. I really want to eat.

Baz gives me an amused look. “Dig in, Snow, I can see you salivating all the way from over here.”

I roll my eyes, but still grab my utensils. “Shut up.” I put a large forkful of rice in my mouth, and it’s a flavour explosion. My tastebuds are singing with joy. I’ve never had something this good. I start shovelling huge bites in, making Baz snort with laughter.

“You like it?” he asks with amusement.

“Uh, fuck yeah! What is this, ambrosia?”

Baz chuckles and shakes his head, “No, just some good spices. That’s called koshari. It’s a very famous dish in Egypt. I’m half Egyptian, so I wanted to try to make it. Connect to my heritage and all.”

I try to smile, but my mouth is partially filled with koshari, so it’s difficult. “That’s awesome. Like, it’s really cool you’ve got that connection to your culture and stuff. Plus it’s just like super delicious.”

He half smiles, lifting his wine glass like a true gentleman, “The chef appreciates your compliments.”

I lift my own and clink our cups together. Like we’re fancy or something. “You’re very welcome.”

We trade easy conversation as we eat. Baz has completely caught up in his classes. Actually, he’s probably ahead. He’s incredibly smart so I’m not surprised. I’m getting better at paying attention in class. Penny gave me a fidget spinner, which I think was supposed to be a joke, but it’s actually helped me channel some of that restless energy. Plus I’m just super interested in our therapy unit. It’s what I study social work for, to help people. Baz calls me exceedingly noble. From his small smile, I assume it’s a compliment.

Once dinner is finished, we put our plates in the sink. I try to start washing but Baz slaps my hand away.

“None of that,” he says resolutely. “I’ll do it later.”

I put my hands in my pockets. I know there’s no point in arguing with him, amazing stubborn bastard. “Alright. What should we do? I don’t really feel like going home yet.”

A strange look crosses over his face. Both nervous and excited maybe? It’s so fleeting I can’t tell before it’s gone. He nods slowly. “Want to watch a movie? I’ve got Fiona’s Netflix account.”

“Yeah sure. Sounds good.”

We walk over to Fiona’s pristine white couch. I flop down while Baz sits properly, ankles crossed, straight back, hands in his lap. Jeez, he can still be so uptight sometimes. He flips down his glasses, probably so he can actually see the TV. Fuck, they really do look good on him. I have to make an effort not to stare.

“What should we watch?” I ask. “Horror? Comedy? Drama?”

Baz shrugs. “Well, I only watch documentaries, which you’d probably find very boring. So I leave the choice up to you, Salisbury.” He hands me the remote like a gentleman offering a bouquet. I take it graciously.

“Oh thank you kind sir,” I say in my poshest accent. Baz rolls his eye and chuckles.

I flip through Netflix for a little while. Well, Baz wasn’t lying about only watching documentaries. All his recently watched are movies about forests and wars and violinists. Bo-ring! I go to the romcom section, because I love stupid tropey shit. Penny calls me a hopeless romantic. I just like that everything works out in the end. Real life isn’t usually like that. It’s nice to pretend. So I pick “Notting Hill”. It’s one my favourites.

“Dear Lord,” Baz mutters part way in, “what is this?”

“It’s a rom com,” I reply.

“So, I’m supposed to believe that a movie star just happens to wander into this guy’s store? And she kisses him impulsively? Seriously?”

I playfully smack his arm. Wow, his hands are rough, his arms are smoother than sea glass. “It’s not supposed to be realistic, it’s supposed to be fun.”

He snorts. “Well, all I can focus on is the plot holes.”

I sigh. My head, heavy from food drowsiness, lolls to my right. It takes me a bit too long to realise it’s fallen on Baz’s shoulder. Shit, didn’t mean to do that. He’s incredibly tense, every muscle pulled tight. I nearly move off, but then he relaxes. His legs uncross, and his hands fall to beside his sides. So, I guess this is okay. And his shoulder, despite it’s boney-ness, is actually really comfy. Yeah. this is cool. I’ll just stay here.

The movie keeps going, but it kind of falls to background noise for me. I know it off by heart anyway. I’m more focused on other things for some reason. Like the feel of Baz’s soft shirt on my cheek. Or that his whole jean covered leg is pressed against mine. Or how close his rough farmer-violist hand is to mine. I’ve only held it a couple times, and only loosely. I do wonder...

Before thinking about it too much, I reach over and grab his hand. Baz inhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t pull away. Our hands rest together. We stay like that for awhile. Watching the movie, just casually holding hands. Normal friend stuff. His skin is still as scratchy as I remember, creating sparks of sensation all over my palm. And his fingers are quite long. Pianist fingers, I think that’s the term. They’re nice. I like his hand. I like holding it.

Eventually, I lift my head up, and my eyes flick over to him. I just want to see if he’s enjoying the movie. Holy shit, he’s looking back. His grey eyes are staring right at me. It almost feels like he’s looking _through_ me they’re so piercing. It makes me shudder involuntarily. His eye move lower, to... Wait is he looking at my-

And then he kisses me.

Holy shit. A guy is kissing me. More importantly, _Baz_ is kissing me. His face is so close to mine, black hair falling around us, glasses pushing against my nose. Baz’s lips are smooth, soft, and kinda cold. Well, not cold, just chilly, like an ocean breeze. It feels nice. His kiss feels nice. Oh my god, I’m musing about a guy kissing me, about how much I like it. What the hell?!

Our mouths are still, just pressed together chastely. Like we're a pair of awkward pre-teends having out first kiss. But really I’m too stunned to move. Then Baz pulls away slightly. His eyes are a bit glassy and his breathing is unsteady. “Is this okay?” he whispers.

That’s a really good fucking question. Am I okay with this? My lips are still tingling, and my pulse is hammering in my ears. Every fibre in my body is screaming at me to get close to him again. I nod. “Yeah,” I reply breathlessly, “yeah, it’s okay.”

Baz smirks, pushing his glasses on top of his head before kissing me again. He’s less hesitant this time, moving his mouth more insistently and curling his long fingers around my nape. I try to match his pace, try to pull him closer too, clutching his shirt in tight fists. I just want him so close. I let out an involuntary moan when his nails prick my skin. The slight sting makes everything go spinny. My mouth falls open, and I moan again as his tongue slowly slides across mine. Holy shit, why does this feel so much better than any kiss I’ve had before? I’ve only snogged a few of people, so it’s not like I’ve got a ton of experience, but I’ve got enough. And this is by far the best snog I’ve ever had.

I don’t even realise I’ve been leaning back until I’m laying down with Baz over me. He’s got one hand in my hair, the other trailing along my side, and a leg between mine. I’m holding his hips, dangerously close to going under his shirt. I really want to feel those muscles I saw in the changeroom, but I don’t want to do anything like that without Baz’s permission. Consent is necessary and all. But suddenly, without even moving off my mouth, Baz grabs my wrist and shoves my hand right under his shirt. Okay, pretty damn sure that’s consent. I trace the ridges and planes of muscle in his back, memorising the how ridiculously good they feel. He groans into my mouth. It makes my whole body shudder. And I full on gasp when he grinds his knee between my legs. My whole brain fucking explodes. Oh man, I am certainly “reacting” very, very strongly right now.

Through all the arousal haze, I wonder if this, what we’re doing, means I’m gay. But I don’t want to kiss Baz because he’s a guy. I want to kiss Baz because he’s Baz. Because he’s nice and funny and watched Doctor Who for me. And sure, he’s also really pretty with his wavy black hair and deep sea eyes. But anyone would notice that. I’ve noticed that other guys are pretty before. I can be straight and observant, right? I don’t know. It’s all too confusing to think about now. I just want to keep holding Baz. I _have_ to do that.

Fuck, how long has he wanted this? How long have _I_ wanted this? I would say I didn’t, but then why are a list of things I want to do to Baz? Like this; I push a hand into his hair. The strands are soft, slipping through my fingers, just like I thought. I clench my fist and shove his face more into mine.

Suddenly, Baz pulls off my mouth.

“Sorry,” I say (I’m out of breath it’s embarrassing.)

“No, no, don’t be sorry. Just,” he takes a breath, “want to continue this somewhere more comfortable?”

I’m panting very hard, but so is he. His face is flushed, eyes half lidded, lips swollen and wet. He looks fucking hot. My whole body is vibrating with energy. I want to pull him down and kiss him until our mouths are sore. And well, this couch is a bit small to stay here for that long. So I nod. “Sure, sounds good.”

Baz grins, showing all his bright white teeth. “Wonderful.”

He climbs off me. His legs are shaky, but when I stand up, mine are too. Baz turns off the telly and takes my hand, leading me down the narrow hall towards a room. Once we enter, it’s very obvious that this is Baz’s room. It’s extremely neat because of course Baz is a clean freak. But the desk is covered in a mess of books and sheet music. His violin case sits in the corner. I wonder if I’ll ever hear him play.

We stop in front of the large bed. His sheets are all black, and they look like silk. Well, that's definitely more comfortable than the couch. Baz turns towards me. His face is lit up by the setting sun, skin glowing perfectly in the fiery light. Wow, he’s somehow even prettier right now. But, is he nervous? He’s chewing on his lip, and the hand I’m not holding keeps flexing. I guess he is. Huh, I haven’t seen him anxious since the W Wood. And right now he’s much worse.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat a bit, “how far do you want to go? We could just keep snogging, that’s fine with me. Or we could do more. Whatever you feel like, I’ll be fine with.”

Fucking hell he’s so considerate. It makes my heart speed up, for some reason. But, what do I want? I want to touch him, to kiss him a lot. For him to kiss me and touch me too. Maybe in places other than my lips. Actually, fuck "maybe", I _desperately_ want that, the need itching under every part of my skin. Even though I've never wanted a guy to do that before. Even though I’m straight. I’m trying not to think too much about those contradictions and focus on how good kissing him felt. I really don’t need a headache at this time.

“I-I’m good for anything.” Wait no, not right. “But not ‘all the way’, though. I don’t think I’m prepared for that, in every sense of the word.”

Baz chuckles, his other hand grabbing mine. “That’s fine, no worries. Neither am I, to be honest. But there’s lots of other stuff we can do.”

I look down at the floor, stomach twisting terribly with nerves. “Um, if _I’m_ being honest, Baz, I, uh, have no clue what to do. I’ve never done this before, with a guy.”

He doesn’t say anything. I expected him to laugh, to tease me at least a bit, but instead I feel his rough pianist finger knock up my chin. His mouth is soft, and his eyes are kind and understanding. Why are my knees so weak? “It’s okay, you don’t have to be nervous. We can try things, but you can absolutely stop me if I you want to, alright?” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, taking a moment to trace my jaw with a single callused fingertip. “I’ll take care of you, Simon.”

Bloody Hell, I’m not sure I have knees anymore now.

We lean forward simultaneously, lips instantly moulding together like we’ve been kissing forever. It feels so fucking good that I barely notice him pushing up my shirt. He pulls away when he reaches my arms. His face asks the silent question, and I nod in reply. He pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it to the side. I push at the hem of his. He happily helps me get it off, whipping it on the floor. My hands instantly go to his bare torso and chest. I try to touch all of it. Stomach, chest, shoulders, everything. I feel every bit of smooth skin and sharp angle, and they’re just as wonderful as I imagined.

“You’re actually perfect,” I murmur.

Baz smirks. He clenches his stomach, showing off his stupid perfect abs. I can’t suppress the squeak that pops out of my mouth.

“Why thank you,” he drawls sarcastically. I scoff, hoping it makes up for my red cheeks. He slowly runs his hand over my bare side the across my stomach. My whole body feels electric. I shiver and sigh. “You’re pretty damn amazing yourself, Snow.”

I attempt to laugh off my embarrassment. “T-Thanks.”

He kisses me softly again, arms winding around my neck. I hold his waist tightly. I nearly pull him over as Baz spins me around and pushes me on the bed. He stands over me, cupping my cheeks as we keep kissing. Soon he breaks away and starts trailing his cool lips slowly down my neck. It feels so good my eyes roll back in my head. I fall back on the mattress, propped up on my elbows, legs still hanging off the edge. He goes further and further. Across my collarbone, down my sternum and stomach, until he reaches just above my trouser waistband. Baz looks up from where he’s kneeling between my legs, eyes so dark I can only see the smallest ring of grey, and places a tentative hand over the button.

“May I?” he asks breathlessly.

I’m gripping the sheet so hard my knuckles are white. I can’t tell if it’s from nervousness or anticipation. Probably both. I know what he means. I know what he wants to do. Part of me is still confused by my own desire, but a louder part is only thinking in sex. In _“yes, yes, please, more, do it.”_ And it’s a _lot_ louder.

“Yeah,” I say, falling fully onto my back, "you can.”

I lay there, staring at the blemish free white ceiling, breathing harshly, just waiting. Everything is quiet. The only sound is the distant honks from far below and my own clamorous heartbeat. Baz doesn’t do anything for awhile and I start to think if I fucked up somehow. Am I too eager? Has he changed his mind? Is this all one big stupid mistake?

But then he pulls my pants down and takes me in his mouth. Then, well, I’m not thinking very much at all anymore.

* * *

 

I roll off Baz and flop next to him on his bed. We’re both panting and sweating and a bit sticky, bare bodies glistening in the city lights. It’s very dark out now. The sun set awhile ago. I manage to twist my still dizzy head to look at the digital clock on the nightstand. Holy shit, we just spent over two hours having sex. My muscles are totally dead, throbbing with blissful exhaustion.

And it hits me, again: I just had sex with Baz, with a guy, and I really, really liked it.

So does _this_ mean I'm gay? But I liked it because it was Baz, not because it was a guy. He was so patient, so attentive, pushing just enough to get me to try new things but never so far that I was uncomfortable. I'm still unbelievably confused, but mostly just really fucking satisfied.

“Wow,” I say, voice raw and scratchy. “That was just, wow.”

Baz tries to chuckle, but his voice isn't much better than mine. “Had fun, Snow?”

“Uh, yeah! That was like the best sex I’ve ever had.” It’s only after the words burst out do I realise how fucking embarrassing that sounds. Baz laughs, of course. I cover my burning face. “I’ll shut up now,” I groan.

“Oh don’t be embarrassed, darling.” Baz peels my hands off, grinning face now hovering over mine. I can feel his foot pressed to my bare calf. He kisses my knuckles lightly. A thousand butterflies take off in my stomach. “It was really good for me too.”

His face is shiny with sweat, wavy hair all tangled because I kept pulling it (not that he complained). The city light dances across his skin perfectly. There’s _a lot_ more butterflies flying now. I cup the back of his head and pull his mouth down to mine. I just want to be closer to him right now. It’s not urgent like before. It’s simply a lazy slide of our tired mouths, a calm way to end the frantic evening.

Baz pulls back slowly. His breath tickles my face. Then he collapses on top of me, face buried in the crook of my neck. I snort out a laugh I can’t help. He’s just too adorable.

“You tired, Basilton?” I tease.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “And don’t use my full name. Only my family does that.”

“But it’s so funny! Your name is fucking Basilton Grimm-Pitch. You sound like an Edgar Allan Poe character.”

He chuckles against my skin. “Then you’ll love my first name.”

My heart does double time. I look down at him as best I can. “What the hell is your first name?!”

I feel his shit eating grin on my collarbone. “A man is allowed to have a few secrets, Snow.”

Damn, I really want to throttle the smug perfect bastard. He groans as pushes himself off me, slowly rolling onto his back then sitting upright, legs hanging off the edge. He stretches his arms to the sky, showing the grand muscular expanse of his back. (There are a lot of angry red scratches from my nails. Fuck, I was really into it.)

“I don’t know about you,” he yawns, “but I’m completely knackered. I’m brushing my teeth and going to bed.” His head turns halfway, showing just one eye, gaze slightly unsteady. Is he nervous again. “You want to stay? It’s alright if you don’t.”

Honestly, I’m not sure my muscles are strong enough right now to get me home. Even so, I don't want to go. So I nod. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

His mouth quirks up. “Good.”

Baz slips on his boxers and hands me mine. He leads me to the washroom. It’s huge and pristine and white of course. Baz gives me a fresh toothbrush, which is really thoughtful, because he’s really thoughtful. The vain bastard keeps hogging the mirror though. Once we’re done with our teeth, we go back to the bedroom and Baz takes out his posh red silk pyjamas. He tries to offer me a pair but I’m fine with an oversized t-shirt that looks totally unworn.

“That thing?” Baz says slightly disgusted. “I got that from the overeager poet’s society back at Oxford.”

Huh, makes sense. It does have a Byron joke on it. I shrug. “Eh, it’s fine. Kinda funny too.”

Baz waves dismissively. “Very well. You can keep it if you want. I’m not going to wear it.”

I pull at the hem. Well, if he’s offering, sure. It’s really comfy. And or some reason, I sort of like the idea of keeping this shirt. Keeping Baz’s clothes...it’s just sorta nice.

I flop down on the silk sheets and immediately sink into the comfy mattress. It’s like a goddamn smooth cloud. I’m already drifting off into dreamland when Baz lays next to me. He pulls the quilt over us. Distantly, I feel his long arm drape across my waist and his body curl around mine. His breath hits the back of my neck, almost immediately evening out in sleep. I instinctively snuggle closer, because he feels good. This whole night has felt good. Maybe I should just focus on that instead of the storm in my brain. Yeah, I’m fine with that.

* * *

 

I’m waiting for Baz at Goat while trying to do my readings. He meets me after class, then we have lunch and talk. We’ve been hanging out a lot more on campus the past three weeks, ever since I slept over. I do that a lot more too, actually. I go to his place at least once a week, usually more. Sometimes we just eat supper, maybe watch a movie, then fall asleep in Baz’s bed. Other times we use the bed for...other things.

I’m still straight though. That's still how I think of my self. I just also like this, whatever it is. It’s a sorta weird but awesome friends with benefits thing. I think. We haven’t really defined it. But whatever. We’re having fun. Who needs labels?

“Hello, love.” Baz’s hand is a comfortable weight on my shoulder. He bends around the back of the chair and kisses me. It’s just a short, sweet greeting kiss. He does this a lot now. I like it. I smile against his mouth.

“Hi,” I reply as he sits down across from me. “How was class?”

Baz stretches out his hand. “Well, my fingers hurt, so very good. How was your’s?”

I lift up my heavy textbook. “Professor Blowhard assigned extra readings again, of course. Does he realise we have lives outside of class?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t care, obviously. Because he's a dickhead.”

“Damn right. I need scones to feel better.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “Of course you do. Ebb already getting our food ready?”

“Ebb’s finished your food.” I jolt slightly. When did Ebb get here? Did she manifest out of thin air? She holds two plates with our usuals. A latte, sour cherry scone, and grilled cheese with tomato and spinach for me. (Baz suggested I try the last one, so Ebb made it, and it’s really good.) And a fancy turkey-pesto panini and pumpkin mocha breve for Baz.

Baz smiles up at her. He’s gotten very friendly with her. “Good day, Ebb. How’s it going?”

Ebb shrugs. “Pretty okay. I sort of want some new dishware but I’m not sure I have the funds for it.”

“Well, Christmas is coming up. Maybe I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ebb laughs and ruffles Baz’s already messy hair. She’s very friendly with him by now. “Aw, you don’t have to do that, Baz. Sweet of you to say though. He’s certainly a keeper, Si.”

She winks at me before sauntering off. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean. I flick my eyes over to Baz. He’s taking a sip from his overly large coffee cup. When he lowers it, there’s whipped cream on the tip of his long nose. I snort and giggle. Baz’s brow furrows.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, actually genuinely concerned. He’s always very concerned about his appearance. It’s funny, and kind of cute.

I reach out and use one finger to swipe the whipped cream off. His nose scrunches like an adorable child. I hold it for him to see.

“You’re making a mess,” I tease, then lick my finger. Baz’s eye go wide, and he might blush. It’s hard to tell sometimes, what with his complexion and being emotional display repulsed British gentry. I’m not sure why though. I just don’t like wasting food.

“Christ, Simon,” he chuckles, shaking his head. His eyes flick up to mine and he smirks. That expression makes my stomach do a lot of funny things. “Like you’re one to talk about messes," he says. "My kitchen is still recovering from your pizza debacle.”

“It turned out to be good frozen pizza though.”

“Yes, at the sacrifice of a clean oven.”

I shrug, reaching my foot out to tap his for emphasis. “I’ll destroy my own next time, alright?”

He goes a step further, tracing the toe of his Oxford on my bare ankle. It makes me jolt, but in a good way. Baz seems to have that effect on me.

“Hm, y’know, I haven’t been to your place yet. Invite me over for oven destroying pizza sometime?” His voice is smooth as butter. It makes my legs feel weak, even though I’m already sitting down. And he’s right, he hasn’t been over yet. It’s not because of anything, his place has always just been easier. That should be corrected.

“Yeah, sure,” I chirp, “I’d like that. Though my flatmate might interrogate you. She still isn’t sure she approves of you.”

Baz shrugs dismissively. “Understood. But I’m sure it’ll be fine. She’ll warm up to me. I’m _very_ likable.”

I scoff. “And full of yourself.”

He pushes his foot until it’s fully under my jean cuff. I yelp  in surprise. “Got you to like me, didn’t I?”

Shit, why is my face so flushed? I try to use my book to cover it, but my eyes peek out over the top. Baz is still smirking, still slowly moving his shoe up and down my skin. It’s sort of hard to say no when he’s doing that. Bastard. “That’s true, I suppose,” I say shakily.

“Exactly.” He leans forward on the table, chin cradled in his palm. “Want to come over tonight? Fiona’s at Nicky’s again. Those two need to just move in together already.”

“Yeah, agreed. And I can come over as long as you help me revise for a midterm.”

“Very well,” he sighs dramatically. “If that’s the price I must pay for a good shag.”

And I thought my blush couldn’t get any worse. I use a hand to cover my bright red face. “Baz,” I giggle, “shut up.”

He chuckles and slowly peels my hand away. I’ve found his violin calluses feel weirdly wonderful on my skin. “I’ll help you, love, don’t worry.”

Fuck, he’s always so nice. Just so kind and helpful and fun to be around. He’s like Penny, I guess, but our dynamic doesn’t feel like me and Penny. Not better, just different. My heart and stomach don’t feel twisty around her. And I _definitely_ don’t want to snog Pen silly. Baz is just different. Whatever we have is different. I don’t know what it is, but I like it. And I certainly don’t want to stop.

* * *

 

A week later, Baz is scheduled to come over. I’m trying to salvage my stupid homemade stupid pizza when there’s a knock at the door. I run over still wearing the apron and oven mitts as I open it. Baz is standing on the other side, gym/overnight bag slung over his shoulder. He blinks at me confused, eyes big behind his glasses. (He’s been wearing them more. That's good. He looks amazing, and he needs to see.)

“Hi,” I say breathlessly, kissing him hello by habit.

“Good evening, Snow,” he says. “Nice apron.”

I look down. Right, this is Pen’s “Snog the Chef” apron. Micah sent it to her as a joke. He made the false assumption she cooks enough to need one. Both of us usually cook from a box or order take away. I chuckle.

“Uh, yeah. Still trying to make supper. Come in, come in.”

I race back to the kitchen, leaving Baz in the living room. I can still see him through a small square space in the wall. (The previous tenant had a thing for cutting random holes in the wall.) He scans the room, taking in his surroundings.

“Hm,” he says thoughtfully. “Nice place.”

I laugh loudly so he can hear me. “You don’t have to be nice, y’know. I’m aware it’s gross. I tried to clean a bit.”

“I’m serious, it’s nice. Love all the Polaroid pictures. Is this blonde girl your roommate?”

“Uh, no, that’s Agatha. The other girl, Penelope, she’s my flatmate. We all went to high school together.”

“I see, that’s nice. You all look happy.”

I lean out the weird window hole. Baz is looking at the picture from the summer, when we all went to Agatha’s family beach house. I smile. That was a happy time.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Summer before final year. Can’t tell Agatha was about to break up with me a few weeks later, huh?”

It’s a joke, but I immediately regret it. Baz tenses up. Shit, that’s a serious topic, and I shouldn’t talk about Agatha like that.

“There’s no bad blood though,” I say quickly. “Like, it sucked when we split up but it was for the best in the end. We’re way better as friends. She lives in California now. She skypes me and Pen a lot, tells us all about America and shit. I sent her a British flag for Christmas last year, and she sent me a California one.” I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m babbling, sorry, I’ll stop.”

Baz turns his head. He’s smiling, no anger or disappointment, thank God. “It’s fine, love, don’t worry. She sounds lovely. I’m not jealous. Unless I have a reason to be.”

His raised eyebrows and toothy grin tells me he’s joking. I chuckle. Why would he have a reason to be jealous anyway? I mean, Agatha’s pretty, but so is he. “No, you definitely have no reason. Maybe I’ll introduce you two sometime. You can compare expensive hair products.”

“Hey, you like my hair.”

“Yeah, but I’ve also seen how many bottles you have in your shower. And how many bottles did you bring with you tonight?”

Baz doesn’t answer. I snicker as I pull my pizza out of the oven. Well, it’s not much of a pizza anymore. Sort of a dough, cheese, and sauce liquid mess in a pan. I groan and lean my head on the cupboard over the oven.

“Trouble with supper, love?”

I look up. Baz is leaning in the window hole, arms crossed over the sill and head on his bent elbow. He looks nice like this, relaxed and all. Huh, he really is a lot less uptight than he was two months ago. That’s good, I suppose. I smile weakly.

“I think this pizza is even more of a disaster than the last one. And this time it’s completely inedible.”

He frowns sarcastically. “Aw, what a surprise.”

I take a mitt off and throw it at his stupid smug pretty face. “Fuck off, I tried!”

Baz doesn’t looked fazed by the glove projectile, just holding it as he smiles. “I know, darling, and you did your best. Now, shall I order take away?”

I sigh, shaking off the other mitt so they lay in a messy pile on the counter. “I guess so. But I’m paying for it. I was supposed to make you a nice supper, I should at least pay for the substitute.”

“Well, I certainly have no problem with that.”

I turn off the oven and take off the dumb apron. With heavy steps and hanging head, I go into the living room. Baz immediately reaches out and pulls me against him, hugging me close. I wrap my arms around his firm back, easily sinking into his embrace. He smells nice. Like cedar and bergamot, I think.

“Want to watch a movie?” he whispers, breath tickling my ear.

“Sure,” I mumble into his shoulder. “Do you like Pixar?”

He chuckles. It’s a really nice sound, washing over me like a warm, relaxing wave. “Yeah. Pixar is wonderful.”

We don’t move for a bit though. We just stay there, hugging in the middle of my living room. He’s a good hugger, so I don’t mind. I just close my eyes, breathe in his smell, and let his strong, firm arms hold me.

* * *

 

“Why does Buzz go still?” Baz asks. “He doesn’t think he’s a toy. Why would he pretend to be one when a person walks in?”

“Shhh.” I reach up to blindly hit his stupid smart arse mouth. “You’re ruining the movie.”

“I’m simply pointing out a flaw in the film’s plot.”

“Just shut up and watch, arsehole.”

Baz makes a displeased noise, but does thankfully shut up. Our half eaten take away pizza is still sitting on the coffee table. The sun has mostly set, the light of the telly the main source now. I’m junk food tired so I’ve ended up with my head in Baz’s lap. His legs are comfortable. And I like the way he strokes my hair. I could probably fall asleep like this if I wanted.

“Sorry again about supper,” I mumble into his thigh.

Baz hums softly, winding a finger around one of my curls. “It's fine, love. You made the effort, that's what counts. And I appreciate it.”

I hum, throwing an arm over his knees. “You’re nice.”

Bizarrely, he scoffs at that. “You’re the first person to say that, Snow. Most people say I’m rude and mean.”

“You're not, they're all wrong," I say immediately, almost angry for him.

He pauses for a moment, hand still in my hair. "You really think so?" he asks, voice slightly shaky.

"Yeah, of course. You tease me but you also made me supper and watched Doctor Who. That means a lot. You’re, like, snarky nice. Fuck, does that even make sense?”

Baz runs his thumb over the nape of my neck. “No, I get it. Thank you, darling, you’re incredibly sweet.” He brushes his long fingers against my ear. “Sometimes I wonder how I found you,” he sighs.

I chuckle, sound muffled by his trouser leg. “You ‘found me’ in a boring psych lecture, remember?”

“Yeah,” he whisper-laughs. “Glad I did though. Honestly...” He takes an audible breath, like he’s getting ready to jump off a cliff or something. “I think you’re the best thing to come out of moving to Watford.”

My mouth suddenly feels dry. And my heart is bruising my ribs it’s beating so hard. That was definitely one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. But it doesn’t feel like when Penny or Agatha or Mum are nice. It feels so...new. I wish there was a more eloquent word for it, for what I feel when he says something like that. It’s an all encompassing sensation I've never experienced before. Like a supernova in my brain and chest. I just can’t place it.

The end credit music starts playing. I turn my head back to the screen. “Oh hey, it’s done,” I say. “Wanna watch something else?”

I can’t see Baz’s face, but I feel him lean back against the sofa. “Sure. Anything in mind?”

“Actually, yeah, I've got something. You’ll like it.” I fumble for the remote, then start flipping through my Netflix list. I know it’s there... “Aha! This!” I highlight a movie I found yesterday. Baz leans forward with curiosity.

“A documentary on an Australian string quartet?” He chuckles. “Really?”

Shit, I thought he would like it because there are string instruments and stuff in it. But it’s not like every chef adores cooking shows. “S-Sorry, it was just an idea. We can watch something else.”

Baz puts an arm around my waist and squeezes my stomach tight. I immediately relax. “No, that wasn’t a discouragement. I’m very intrigued. I’m just surprised you’re offering to watch it. It’ll be quite dull for you.”

I shrug. “Eh, maybe. But you’ll like it, and I’m willing to try.”

Baz doesn’t answer. Well, not with words. His arm holds me even tighter, and he leans down to kiss my hair. His cool lips press lightly to my scalp. I can’t help the shudder it makes. When he pulls back, he goes back to to softly stroking my hair. I feel like I could melt into the couch.

“Put it on,” Baz sighs. “Try not to fall asleep, Snow.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say, meaning it genuinely.

So the movie is objectively boring for me, because I'm not a violin student, and I’m not a huge fan of documentaries period. But there are some good parts. I like the people, following their progression and lives and how their careers influence everything around them. Baz likes that too. Though he’s also fascinated by all the fancy instruments. I just think they’re all really pretty.

“Hey,” Baz asks, “where’s your flatmate?”

“Oh she’s-” The front door suddenly slams, making both of us jolt. A few footstep sounds later, Penny is standing right in front of us. “She’s right here. Hi, Pen.”

Penny is frozen. She blinks at us in complete silence for a few long seconds. I don’t know what’s so baffling. “Hi... What’s going on here?”

“Baz and I are watching a movie.” What’s going on with her? Pretty sure that was obvious.

She quirks an eyebrow. “So this is Baz?”

“Oh right.” I gesture to her. “Baz, this is Penelope Bunce.” I gesture to him. “Penny, this is Baz Grimm-Pitch.”

“Hello, Penelope," Baz says smoothly. "May I call you that?”

“Um, sure.”

“Wonderful. Pleasure to finally meet you.” He offers his hand like the gentleman he is.

Cautiously, Penny takes the handshake. “Same for me. Good to put a face to the name.”

“Likewise.”

Their hands fall. Penny has a weird expression on her face. Her eyes keep flicking between me and Baz, looking positively perplexed. I don’t get it. We’re just watching a movie. She said it was okay to bring Baz over, but it still must be weird for her to have someone new around. She doesn’t like new people.  But Baz is going to be hanging around with me indefinitely, so they should probably get more comfortable with each other.

“Wanna watch and eat with us?” I ask. “Pizza is lukewarm but still good.”

She seems even more confused, head pulling back and mouth twisting for a moment. “Uh, sure, if that’s alright with both of you.” She looks pointedly at Baz.

“It’s perfectly fine with me. Snow’s the one taking up the entire sofa.”

I scoff and smack his knee. “Fuck off.” I swing my legs dramatically, putting myself upright. It makes my vision spin a bit, so I fall against Baz, head on his shoulder. I don’t think he minds though. “There, happy?”

He chuckles and throws an arm around me, pulling us even closer together. “Positively elated, Snow.” He presses a sloppy wet kiss to my cheek. I make a disgusted noise as I wipe it off.

“Arsehole.” I kiss his cheek too. Fair’s fair. I look up, and Penny’s eyes are incredibly wide. I gesture at her. “C’mon, Pen, there’s room now.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “Alright then."

She sits down, but closer to the other end. Weird. I try to make more room, putting my legs over Baz’s, pressing against him. But she doesn’t move any closer. Actually, she moves further away. Weird, but I get wanting your own space. She is watching the movie intently though.

“This is good,” she says through her pizza. “That violin is incredible.”

“It’s called the Gibson ex-Huberman Stradivarius,” Baz interjects. “Made by Antonio Stradivari of Cremona in 1713. Many say his string instruments are the greatest ever made. He’s estimated to have made 960 violins, 650 of which are still around. What I wouldn’t give to play a Stradivarius.”

“Right," Penny chuckles. "Simon said you were a violinist.”

“Yup, he is,” I say. “Which makes him a total music nerd.”

Baz flicks my far ear then kisses the other. “Says the Doctor Who nerd. And not just music. I enjoy history and English language too.”

“Hey, so does Penny! She never shuts up about that book about working people.”

“‘The Making of The English Working Class’ by EP Thompson, Si,” Penny says with some exasperation. “It’s an interesting read.”

Baz makes a contemplative sound. He’s good at those. “I’ll have to look it up. Shall we compare notes sometime?”

Penny turns her head. She seems to be examining Baz over her spectacles, brown eyes moving up and down over him. She does that a lot, examines people, like me the first day we met all those years ago. She’s assessing him, figuring out whether he’s worth her time. She decided I was. I can only hope she likes him

“I’ll think about it,” she says.

I breathe out a small sigh of relief. They get along, thank God. Neither of them notice the sigh, but they do notice the loud yawn I can’t help afterwards.

“Tired, Snow?” Baz teases.

“No,” I grumble. I rub my aching eye, which doesn’t help my case.

Baz sighs, then shoves off my legs and stands over me, all tall and looming and handsome. He offers his hand. “Then let’s go to bed. I have an early class tomorrow anyway.”

“Okay.” I take his hand and he hoists me to my feet. I’m a bit wobbly, but Baz keeps me steady with an arm around my waist. Damn, I’m tired. “Can you put away the pizza, Pen? I’ll clean up the rest in the morning.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” she says absentmindedly, already flipping to her own show.

“G’night, Pen.”

“Night Si. And Baz.”

“Goodnight, Penelope. Lovely to meet you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

I sigh again, because she sounds genuine, and I don’t need two of my best friends feuding. There’s no need for unnecessary drama.

Baz and I wash up quickly. (He hogs the mirror again.) I throw on my usual baggy shirt and sweats. I assumed he brought his ridiculous posh silk pyjamas, but to my surprise he takes one of my Watford sweatshirts and a matching set of grey trackies. I look at him with utter amusement.

“Really?” I chuckle.

“I left my bag in the living room,” he says nonchalantly. “And I don’t feel like going to get it.” His pretty face become nervous for a moment, looking down at the hardwood floor. “Is it alright?”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” I curl my fingers in his elastic waistband, making him stumble closer. “You look good. You should wear my clothes more often.”

He chuckles, leaning down to capture my lips. I sigh and melt into it. Baz holds my face, slowly running his finger over my cheek. I encircle his waist. Warmth spreads from my mouth and through my entire body. Damn. No matter how brief or how long, how fast or slow, Baz's kisses are always pretty damn great.

He pulls back slightly, leaving the smallest space between us. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he whispers against my skin. “Come on, now. I’m tired and so are you. Let’s sleep.”

I yawn right on cue. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Baz pulls me towards the bed. He lays down first, putting his glasses on the nightstand, and I follow, head pillowed on his strong chest. His arms wrap around me tightly. I like when he does that. Baz always makes me feel better just by holding me. How the hell does that work? Why does he feel so unlike any friend I've had before? I don't know. And I don't care, so long as he just keeps holding me.

“Night,” I mumble.

“Night, love,” he sighs.

I drift off with his left hand in my hair, his right tracing circles on my back, and his heartbeat right under my ear.

* * *

 

“Snow? Snow. Simon.”

I groan at the voice disturbing the my sleep. A rough, callused hand shakes my arm. Of course I know who it is, so I don’t even open my eyes.

“What?” I grumble

“I have to go,” Baz whispers. “I’ve got class until seven. Lunch at Goat tomorrow?”

“M-hm.”

“And are you still staying at my place Friday?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you understand anything I just said?”

I roll over, bleary eyes opening slightly. The dawn light doesn’t hurt my eyes too much. Baz is a blur of black, reddish-gold, and grey.

“Goat tomorrow, your flat Friday,” I mumble. “Got it.”

There’s white in the blur now, what I assume are his teeth in a wide grin. He leans forward. “Wonderful. See you later, darling.”

“Bye, love.”

He presses a kiss to my hairline. Even half asleep, I can feel his cool lips on my forehead and the smell of all his fancy products waft up my nose. I listen as his shoes click out the door.

I think I fall asleep again, because when I wake up it’s a lot brighter outside. I groan at the burning sunlight and bring the sheet over my head. I don’t have class until two so I don’t have to get up just yet. I just lay in bed, trying to block out the day. And under those sheets, it hits me that I called Baz ‘love’ for the first time. Huh. Guess his use of cute nicknames is rubbing off on me. It’s new, but so is a lot of stuff we’re doing, and I’ve like it all so far. I think I like this too.

My stomach growls like an angry lion. Guess that’s my cue to get up. I throw off my sheet and immediately shiver. Fuck, it’s chilly. I look over and see that Baz left my sweatshirt folded on my dresser, so I slip it on. I press it to my nose. It still sort of smells like him, a gorgeous mix of his cologne and fancy products. That makes me smile like an idiot, for whatever reason.

I saunter into the kitchen. Penny doesn’t have any class, so she’s sitting at the dining room table with a bunch of textbooks spread out. It’s like the school library threw up on it. The coffee in the pot is old, but I don’t feel like making a new one. So I pour it out and put it in the microwave.

“That’s disgusting, Si,” Penny sing songs.

“Shut up, Pen,” I reply with my most chipper voice. The microwave beeps. I drink from the mug and promptly spit the whole thing out in the sink. Oh Christ, it is disgusting.

“Told you so.”

I glare at her through the kitchen wall hole as I pour the coffee out. I start setting up the kettle for tea instead. Screw coffee. Baz says tea is better for you anyway.

“So,” she says very matter of factly, staring at me through our lovely wall hole, “Baz.”

She doesn’t continue. Nothing to explain what the fuck she’s talking about. She just looks at me with narrow eyes while twirling a pencil in her hand. I blink at her, silence hanging between us, and still nothing.

“Yeah, Baz,” I chuckle.

“You like him?”

“Uh, yeah. He’s cool.”

“Is he nice?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Sort of?”

I shrug, scratching the back of my neck. “He’s nice in the important ways, y’know? Helps me out when I need it and treats me well. But he also teases me. In fun though. I tease him too, and I try to be nice. I hope he thinks I’m nice too.”

The kettle whistles. I get out my Adventure Time mug and a peppermint tea bag. When I look back at Penny, she’s twisting her lips, brow furrowed together, pencil tapping on the table rhythmically. That’s her concerned friend look. She always looks like this when I make a major life decision, or when I attempt cooking.

“And, you’re happy, right?” she asks carefully.

I blink at her in confusion again. That’s a weird question. I’ve been depressed before, sure, but I haven’t lately. So I’m not sure why Penny is concerned with my emotional state. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She chuckles and her concerned look goes away. That’s a relief. I don’t like making Penny worried. “Alright then. As long as you’re happy.”

“Okay,” I chuckle, laughing at the absurdity of this.“Fun talk, Pen. Enjoy studying.”

“Will do. Get to class on time!”

I scoff, walking towards my room with lovely steaming tea in hand. “If I got to class on time, I wouldn’t be Simon Snow Salisbury.”

Penny sighs with exasperation. Now that’s a sound I’ve heard since high school. It’s become weirdly comforting in a way. Penny’s always going to be a bit frustrated with me, and she still loves me anyway.

* * *

 

“Simon, what are you doing this weekend?”

I look up from my fancy grilled cheese, mouth still full. Baz has finished his panini and is now in his “villain position” again. One long leg over the other, bony elbows propped on his armrests, fingers pressed together. It’s still half intimidating-half badass. I swallow my food. Don’t want to be rude with him.

“This weekend?” I ask. “Uh, nothing. I don’t have anything planned. Why?”

He drums his fingers together slowly. Total Bond villain. “Well, I have a proposition for something we could do.”

That makes me put down my food and shift in my chair. “Oh?”

“Yes.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “You see, my parents wanted me to come home for the whole break next week. But I couldn’t do that with my practice schedule. I still want to see them though, so I’m driving up for family dinner on Sunday.”

“Okay...”

“And the thing is...” He drums his fingers on the wooden table and chews at his lip. “I’ve mentioned you to them, and they’re wondering if you’d like to come up with me.”

I nearly drop my sandwich. I stare at Baz silently for an inappropriate amount of time. “Your parents," I say cautiously, "want me to come over for dinner?”

He nods slowly, face pinched together in nervousness. “Yes. They’re both eager to meet you, though they may not show it outwardly. But please, love, don’t feel pressured. I told them it might be too soon for this but they can be...insistent. It’s completely up to you though. They’ll survive if you say no.” He rubs his nose under his glasses. “Sorry, this is just a whole mess. I thought about not asking but I wanted to give you the choice.”

“O-Okay.” I nod, like a very slow moving bobble head. Wow, this is just a lot. I haven’t met a friend’s parents since Agatha. And we were dating, which made it very scary. This seems even scarier though. My heart is pulsing too fast. Fuck, why does this feel so intimidating?

Baz grabs my hand, thumb tracing the back of it. It immediately calms me down. “Don’t panic, love, no matter what decision you make I’ll understand. It’s not like we’ll stop speaking if you don’t come to dinner with my pushy, posh parents.” He squeezes my hand. “It’s up to you, love.”

Right, up to me... Fuck. Do I want to meet Baz’s posh family? Even though it’s scary? I mean, I guess it would be nice. They’re probably smart like Baz, cultured too, all that. It sounds intimidating, and it was with Baz at first, but I learned. And maybe I can learn with his family too. I'd like to know more about Baz, be part of another aspect of his life. That's what friends do, right?

“Okay,” I say, “I’d like to come.”

Baz’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth falling open slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. It sounds fun, and I’d like to meet your parents. If they’re anything like you, they’ll be posh, really smart, and weirdly nice.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Well, that’s one way to see them.”

I giggle too, leaning closer to him over the the small table. “Okay, good to know. Anything I should bring?”

“Well, Sunday nights are our ‘fancy dinners’, so we dress up. You’ll have to wear a suit.”

I frown. “I don’t own a suit.”

He nods like some thoughtful scholar. “Hm, alright. Well, I’ve got one you could borrow. Is that alright?”

“Sure. If it fits me, Mr. Tall and Lanky.” I poke his muscular shoulder for emphasis, making him laugh.

“You’re not that much shorter than me, don’t worry. So we’ll go up Sunday afternoon and leave Monday morning. I’ll certainly be drinking, so I don’t want to drive home the night of.”

“Very responsible, love, very responsible.”

Baz chuckles softly, and I do too. He looks me in the eye. All I see is kindness. Who the hell ever said he was an arsehole? He’s actually incredible.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” he asks, his voice still concerned.

I adjust our hands, so we’re smooth palm to scratchy palm, and smile as big as I can. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Baz smiles back. Not as big, but it’s still kind and calm. He leans forward and kisses my cheek, whispering in my ear. “Wonderful. Can’t wait.”

And weirdly enough, neither can I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the documentary is real and called "Highly Strung", and the book Penny mentions is real too. Hope you all liked this. I like writing this fluffy definitely-not-a-relationship haha. Tomorrow, "adventure" :)


	3. adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet the parents! :D

I’m running as fast as an Italian race car. Dashing from room to room like a toddler on a sugar rush. Penny makes the grave error of crossing in front of me. I nearly knock over her latest book and very full mug.

“Jeeze, Si, slow down!” She shouts.

“Sorry, Pen!” I yell back “Fuck, where are my nice shoes?”

“Um, in my closet, I think? We stored most of our unneeded crap there when we moved, remember?”

I smack my forehead. “Right, right, I forgot.”

I dash into Penny’s room, ballerina tip toeing around her towers of books and piles of laundry. Yup, just like she said. her tiny closet is a stack of cardboard boxes we never unpacked. Christ, we’re lazy. I start ripping through the boxes, throwing them apart frantically. Clothes and books fl our around me in a clutter tornado. I can hear Penny slurping her tea behind me.

“You wouldn’t happen to be nervous, would you?” she asks with more than a hint of mocking.

“No,” I say firmly. “Just wanna be ready. Baz is gonna be here any minute and I need my nice shoes. Fancy people like fancy shoes.” I fling out an old tablecloth so hard and fast I smack myself in the face.

Penny makes an amused sound. “Sure, Si. Not nervous at all.”

I glare at her over my shoulder, still rubbing my aching nose. “Fuck off.”

“Oh, I’m only teasing. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Remember the first time I met Micah’s family? Near disaster. Meeting the boyfriend’s parents is never easy.”

My head snaps up so fast my neck hurts. That word smacks my brain and rattles around like a pinball in those old fashioned machines. Bouncing around, trying to comprehend its meaning. I can’t even fully process what Penny said for a good twenty seconds. “What?”

“What what?”

“What did you just say?”

“That I nearly threw up when I met Micah’s parents? You know that, I called you when I was over the toilet.”

“No no, after that.”

“Uh, meeting the boyfriend’s parents is never easy?”

“Yeah.” I turn to look at her. “What do you mean by that?”

She raises a very confused brow. “I was sympathizing with you over being nervous about meeting a boyfriend’s parents,”  she says slowly. “Because you are currently nervous about meeting your boyfriend’s parents,”

I blink many times and shake out my head out, still trying to process what she’s saying. I’m not offended, just...stunned. “Baz isn’t my boyfriend,” I say flatly.

Penny’s other brow shoots up to her hairline. She nearly drops her book, a cardinal sin in her mind. “Baz...isn’t your boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, do you guys use another word? Partners? Lovers?”

“No,” I chuckle. “Nothing like that. We’re just really good friends.”

Penny chuckles as well. She puts her mug down and crosses her arms. “You guys really aren’t boyfriends?”

“No, Pen. I’m straight.”

Penny bursts out laughing. Her head falls back with the raucous sound. I frown. Why is she doing that? This isn’t a funny thing. She suddenly stops, and we lock eyes. Her’s slowly get wider and wider. “Oh my god, you’re serious,” she whispers.

I roll my eyes, easily imitating her. “Yeah. I’m straight, Baz and I are just friends.”

She glares with one hand on her hip. “Simon, I literally heard you two having annoyingly loud sex just on Friday. I remember thinking that I needed to invest in ear plugs.”

Shit. My face instantly turns bright, bright red, and my voice suddenly stops working. Dammit, I knew Baz and I should’ve just called it a night when Fiona surprise sexiled us on Friday. We had to go back to my flat of course, but we could've just slept. But no, we were too goddamn horny. I didn’t want to sexile Penny, so I just prayed she wouldn’t hear us. This is proof that God is bloody well dead.

“That was friend sex,” I blurt out.

Her eye bulge out, and she actually drops her book. It hits the hardwood floor with a resounding thunk. “Seriously?”

I impulsively fiddle with my shirt hem, rubbing the stitches between my fingers. “Yeah. We’re friends, and we have fun. That’s it.”

Penny and I stare at each other for a long time. It makes sense right? We’re just guys who hang out and fool around, not boyfriends. We’ve never called each other that or anything close. And even though I’m doing whatever this is with Baz, I still feel like the same person, I still like girls, so I’m still straight. Right?

Penny opens her mouth to say something, but then there’s a knock at the door. I rush past her to answer. Of course, there’s Baz, wearing a beautiful navy wool coat with two coffee cups in hand. He kisses me in greeting, as usual. I don’t hesitate to reciprocate, because I like it. I ignore Penny looking at us.

“Hello, love,” he says. “Ready to go?”

“Um, almost,” I laugh. “I can’t find my nice shoes.”

He furrows his pretty eyebrows, both pulling together in adorable confusion. His eyes flick down and to my left. “You mean those ones right behind you?”

I follow his gaze to the pile of shoes that are all supposed to be on an IKEA shoe rack. (We try to be organised, then fail stupendously.) And right near the top are my pair of black oxfords. Fuck. I sigh and hang my head.

“I’m an idiot,” I groan.

“Yes.” He gently cups the back of my neck. “But a very cute one.” His words make my chest feel tight. Because he’s my friend, and I like when he compliments me. That’s what it is, no matter how many weird expressions Penny I can feel giving me.

I stuff my shoes in my gym bag and sling it over my shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go. It’s like four hours to Hampshire right?”

“Unfortunately,” he sighs. “Big houses are always in the middle of nowhere. Us rich people want to be far away from the riff raff.”

“Well, you’re bringing the riff raff to the door, so mission unsuccessful.” That makes him giggle, and I still love that sound. It’s sweet, slightly high pitched, and really fucking pretty. I always need to hear it more. “Let’s get going. We need to pick up snacks.”

He rolls his eyes with a smile. “Yes yes, I know. Just don’t get too many chip crumbs in my car, please.”

“No promises.” I turn on my heels to face Penny, who still has a funny expression. “Bye, Pen. Be back on Monday.”

“Bye, Simon. Have fun with your...Baz.” I’m not sure if she actually can’t find a word she likes or if she’s being a smartarse. Either way, I just sigh and turn around. “Bye, Baz,” she adds, because she’s polite.

“Farewell, Bunce. I’ll take good care of him,” Baz calls back.

Once we’re outside the door, I lightly elbow him in the gut. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”

He hands me my coffee. It's warmth seeps through my mitts. He takes my arm, then my hand, weaving our fingers together the way he likes. “Of course you do. We all do sometimes”

“Even you?” I bump his shoulder playfully. His lip morphs into a matching playful smile. He squeezes my hand once. His constantly cool skin perfectly works with my ever present heat. I think we match perfectly.

“Even me, love.”

His grey eyes are always a bit bigger behind his glasses, and therefore a bit more open. But right now, they feel particularly big and open. His smile is kind and genuine, crinkling corners of his eyes. My heart skips a few beats. Because he’s my friend, my good friend. And I’m happy when my friend is happy. Just a friend...

* * *

 

“Snow,” Baz says quietly, lightly shaking my shoulder. “Snow, wake up, we’re almost there.”

I rub the sleep out of my eyes, lifting my head up from the car door I’m using as a very uncomfortable pillow. My vision adjusts, eventually focusing on what’s outside the window. There are trees, and trees, and more trees. All monstrously huge and turning bright scarlet and orange with autumn. The road is completely unpaved. Rocks and pebbles are thrown around by the car's tires. Baz is driving very slowly, turning the winding path with impressive precision. There’s no sign of civilization around us for miles.

“Wow,” I chuckle. “Is the Blair Witch going to come and get us?”

Baz scoffs, but with amusement. “No, these woods are nowhere near that interesting. I ran through them as a child and all I ever got were rocks in my shoes and mosquito bites.”

The image of a tiny Baz running between the trees like a wood nymph makes me giggle. Baz rolls his eyes. I keep looking out into the distance, trying to calm my rapid pulse. Suddenly, I feel a hand softly place on my shaking knee.

“You alright?” he asks with nothing but kind concern. “Don't be nervous, it’s all going to be fine.”

I put my hand over his almost instinctively. “No, no, I’m not nervous.” Baz flicks his curious eyes over for only a moment before going back to the road. But the effect is all the same. Fuck, I really can't hide from him. I shrug slightly. “Well, I sorta am. I can’t help it. Just, I don’t want them to think I’m weird. People tend to think I’m weird.”

Baz squeezes my knee. “Don’t worry, Snow. I think you’re weird, yet I like you quite a bit. Being weird isn’t necessarily a bad thing.” That only sort of reassures me. I give him a withering look. His grey eyes flick over to me and he squeezes again. “They’re going to love you, Simon. My parents may be stuffy academic British gentry, but they’re good people.”

I sigh, tracing his long bony fingers for comfort. “I don’t doubt that, Baz, I really don’t. I just...I don’t know them. I assume they're like you, but I'm not sure. Not totally sure what I’m in for, that's all.”

“Well, they’re academic, very reserved, intelligent, kind, caring, sadly somewhat conservative.”

A thought bursts in my brain. I whip my head around, hand very tight on Baz’s. “Wait, they know you’re gay, right?”

Baz throws his head back laughing. I’m worried he’s going to crash us into a tree for a moment. “Yes, Snow, they know I’m gay. And they’re completely fine with it, don't worry. Sure, it took them some adjustment, but I came out when I was fifteen. They’re damn well adjusted by now.”

“Okay,” I breathe out. “That’s good, that’s good. Just, you said conservative and I got worried for a sec. I don’t want to stumble into any awkward family tension.”

“No no, none of those. Well, not around my sexuality at least. School is still a point of slight contention.”

“Isn’t it always with parents?”

We both laugh. He threads our hands together. I sigh, eyes closing in relaxation. Just his grip makes me feel better, a bit more reassured. I’ll certainly be alright as long as Baz is there.

“And here we are.”

Okay, breathe, Simon. I slowly open my eyes. Holy fucking shit. When Baz said he was rich British gentry, I expected...something. But not this.

“Oh my god,” I gasp. “You lived in a castle.”

“It’s not a castle,” he replies. “It’s a mansion.”

“Same dif.”

Baz laughs it off. But seriously, his house is _huge._ It looms over us like a horror movie house, all dark bricks and black shingles. Enormous windows of many shapes decorate every wall. The porch wraps around, the front garden is a gorgeous expanse of colour, and there’s even a fucking spire! Everything about it spells fancy and rich. Holy shit, what have I’ve gotten myself into?

Baz pulls into the garage, next to a black Jaguar and grey BMW (oh my god, fancy as fuck). I step out with my bag and Baz goes around to the boot.

“So your car is the junker around here?” I joke.

Baz rolls his eyes as he hands me my duffel. “Yes, Snow. I drive such a terrible little shitbox.” He closes the trunk of his pristine Volkswagen with emphasis.

I grin playfully and bump his shoulder. He smiles and takes my hand. We walk together up the artful stone walkway, past pristine rose bushes and trimmed shrubs. The ornate front door opens. A woman comes rushing out. I don’t think she’s Baz’s mother. From what he’s said, his mother is too snooty for a floral patterned dress and stained white apron.

“Basil!” she yells. “Welcome home!’

Baz drops his bags and takes a step forward. He wraps his arms around her in a big hug. “Hello, Vera. Thank you very much.”

Okay, so definitely not his mum. Unless he calls his mum by her first name, and I don’t think they’d be _that_ formal. Baz and Vera pull apart, turning to me with big grins.

“Simon,” he says smoothly, “this is Vera. She cleans around the house, cooks occasionally, and helped raise me. This whole place would fall apart without her.”

“Aw, you’re too nice, Basil.” Vera pinches his cheek. Baz frowns. I have to stop myself from snickering.

“Vera, stop," Baz chuckles as he pushes her hand off. He gestures to me. "This is Simon Salisbury. I assume my parents have already said everything important about him.”

I’m not sure if I should be worried or complimented by that at first. But Vera nods with a smile and immediately grabs my hand. So I’m guessing it’s the latter. “Yes, yes, of course. I’m so happy to meet you, Simon. So glad you’ve come.”

I smile back and shake her hand. “Great to meet you too, Vera.”

Vera lets go and immediately goes to grab Baz’s gym bag and two suit bags. Baz tries to pick it up too but she’s faster. She gives him a look that says ‘no arguing’. Baz backs off. Huh, never thought I’d see someone intimidate Baz.

We all walk in to the house. The inside is just as impressive as the outside. Massive dark wooden staircases, fancy old furniture, lots of freaky carvings. It's like entering a scene from a Mary Shelley novel. I try to stifle my gasp.

“Mister! Missus!” Vera calls down the huge hall. “Basilton is here! With Simon!”

There’s a sound of movement. Before I notice, Vera takes my bag off my arm. I watch her go upstairs with it, also still carrying Baz's gym luggage. Wow. That's impressive. Footsteps get closer and closer, and one definitely sounds like heels.

“Mother, Father,” Baz says happily. He puts hand on my shoulder to make me turn. Oh, yeah, these are definitely Baz’s parents.

Baz hugs his mother and shakes hands with his father. Wow, I can see Baz in both of them, but especially his Mum. They share similar skin tones, hair colours, face shapes, and grey eyes. It’s almost as if I'm looking at an older, female version of Baz. She’s dressed like she’s ready for a board meeting in Canary Wharf, complete with impeccable bun and kitten heels. She only has a subtle smile, which is odd, but much better than her husband’s expression. I can see where Baz learned that blank, bored look. It’s kind of creepy. And he has the same sharp widow’s peak and slicked back hair style too, which only up’s the intimidation factor. He’s like a pit viper in a black button down.

“H-Hi,” I squeak out. “I’m Simon, Simon Salisbury. Nice to meet you both.” I stick out my hand a bit too stiff and forcefully.

Baz’s mother’s smile gets slightly bigger. It's almost imperceptible, but it's there. She takes my hand. Holy shit, her skin is just as rough as Baz’s. “Hello, Simon. Such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Same for me, Mrs. Grimm-Pitch.”

“Please, call me Natasha.”

“O-Okay. Thank you, Mrs- Natasha.” She shakes once then lets go, like the proper lady I know she is. I turn to Baz’s father. and do the same. “Hello, Mr. Grimm-Pitch.”

He takes my hand too, and his grip is very tight. Pain shoots up my arm. I try not to show it. “I’m just Grimm. My wife hyphenated her name.”

The “obviously” isn’t said but I hear it in his tone. I feel like an idiot. I hope my embarrassed blush isn’t too obvious. “Oh, right. Sorry, Mr. Grimm.”

“Father,” Baz sighs. “Please don’t.”

His eyes barely move, just glancing over my shoulder. He doesn’t let go of my hand. “I have no idea what you mean, Basil.”

“Malcolm,” Natasha says like a grave warning, “stop trying to intimidate poor Simon. He came all this way to see us, be nice.”

Mr. Grimm clears his throat and finally lets go. I subtly shake out my aching hand. “Yes, love.” She raises an eyebrow at him, like Baz does. He looks at me, seeming a little less bored and blank. “It’s lovely to have you, Simon.”

“Uh, thank you...for having me...” I’m so confused right now.

I feel Baz’s hand take mine from behind. He starts pulling me towards the stairs. “Well, it's certainly good to be home, but Simon and I are very tired from the drive and would like to rest for a bit before dinner. We’ll be down in a few hours?”

“That’s perfectly fine, darling.” Natasha walks forward and lightly kisses Baz’s cheek. “Good to have you home, little puff.

Baz smiles sweetly, like a happy toddler. “Thank you, Mum.”

Mr. Grimm nods, and Baz nods back, and that’s the sum of their farewell. Rich people are weird.

He leads me up the massive staircase. There are paintings of very stern people looking down at us. We go down a hall past many fancy doors until we reach a particular fancy door that Baz pushes open. His room is almost as big as mine and Penny’s entire flat. It’s as dark and intimidating as everything else, with a crimson sofa and fireplace and bloody gargoyles watching over his enormous bed. Dracula should call, he might want his furniture back.

“Wow,” I chuckle. “Is this seriously your room?”

His sigh is exasperated. “Yeah, I know, it’s a bit ridiculous. I needed a step stool to get on my bed as a child.”

I jump up on the soft mattress, the springs creaking slightly under my weight. My feet dangle off the edge. “Oh yeah, I can believe that.”

Baz flops next to me lengthwise on the bed, arms above his head. I adjust so I’m parallel to him. “The gargoyles are creepy, but at least it’s comfortable.”

“M-hm.” A thought crosses my mind, and it’s out of my mouth immediately. “Wait did you lie to your parents about resting so we could shag?”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes good naturedly. “No, Simon, I did not lie to my parents so we could have sex. I drove for over four hours, I’m genuinely tired.”

“Oh, right. That makes sense.”

“You’re such a horn dog, Snow.”

I shove his shoulder. “Fuck off, like you complain.

“Mm, definitely not.” He rolls on his side, throwing an arm over my chest and pushing his cold nose against my cheek. “But no shagging right now. Tired.”

“Aw, I’m so hurt,” I drawl.

“Later, maybe. After dinner.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I damn well hope so.”

I laugh as I roll so we’re facing each other. Baz holds me tighter, tucking his head under my chin, balling up my shirt in his fist. I like when he does that, pulls me closer. His presence always makes me feel better, so it's even better when he brings me closer to him. Because, y’know, friends.

“Hey,” I whisper, “what was up with your dad? He didn’t seem to like me.”

Baz, already teetering on the edge of sleep, groans against my chest. “Don’t mind him," he grumbles. "My father likes to intimidate new people associated with me. He’s a bit overprotective. It’s his way of showing he cares.”

“Huh. That’s...actually sorta sweet. In a weird hyper masculine way.”

“I suppose so,” he sighs. “Nap now.”

“They both seem nice though. I’m happy to meet them.”

Baz tries to put a hand over my mouth, but misses and lazily pats at my eyes. “I said nap, Snow.”

I chuckle, letting him nuzzle against my shirt and listening to his breath even out in sleep. I like his parents, sure, but I’m still intimidated, and a bit worried about how dinner will go. But Baz is sleeping like a snarky little kitten right now. Curled up around me, snoring softly, and it’s adorable. I’ll focus on that for the moment.

* * *

 

I haven’t worn anything close to a suit in two years. My old school uniform was just a white shirt and black trousers. This suit isn’t that fancy, but it’s way nicer than anything I’ve ever worn before. I keep pulling at the grey sleeves, adjusting the buttons, trying to make sure I look perfect. Right now I’m attempting to fix my tie and failing.

Baz knocks lightly on the bathroom door. “You ready, Snow?”

“No,” I groan. “This a goddamn trick tie!”

“May I help?”

My hands fall in surrender. “Sure. It’s a lost cause at this point.”

Baz opens the door. Fucking hell, he looks perfect. His suit is greenish-black with a bit of silver, matched with a perfectly knotted blood pink tie. He looks like the day we first met. No glasses, slicked back hair, playful smirk. Personally, I think he looks incredible no matter what, but this look does suit him well.

“I can’t get it to look right,” I say, almost whining.

Baz shakes his head while still smirking. “The knot is off. Here, let me retie it.”

He stands behind me, long arms reaching around my shoulders to deftly undo my tangled tie. His pianist fingers make it easy. I feel like a mannequin, just standing still as Baz fiddles and twists the fabric. I don’t really mind, though. His whole body is pressed up against mine, and it's definitely comforting.

“And, there.” Baz smooths out the tie perfectly. He’s grinning ear to ear. “All dolled up and ready to go.”

Of course he got the tie perfect. The black fabric sits in beautiful contrast with the white shirt. I smooth out the jacket and pat down my wily hair. “Do I look good?”

He leans forward and presses his cool lips to my ear. It sends a small shiver down my spine. ( _Friend_ shiver.) “You look stunning, Simon,” he whispers.

I sigh. Because I’m relieved, and excited I guess. I hope I’m not so excited I sick up though. That’s a real possibility knowing me. “Thanks, Baz.”

Baz takes my hand. I instantly feel calmer, like always. “Let’s go.”

We walk down the grand staircase. I feel like some great lord entering a gala. It’s kind of awesome. Baz leads me to the large dining room. It’s got high ceilings and a long oak table and even chandelier lighting. I expected a few relatives, miscellaneous Grimms and Pitches. But it’s just Natasha and Mr. Grimm. They’re dressed up too. Natasha is the pinnacle of elegance in a little black dress and subtle makeup. Mr. Grimm is in a black suit with a red sheen, hair still slicked back. He looks even more like a Bond villain than Baz does.

“Good evening, gentleman,” Mr. Grimm says. “Have a restful sleep?”

“Yes, Father,” Baz replies. “Completely recuperated from the horrific drive. We really need to pave that road.”

“And ruin the beautiful nature?" Natasha sounds positively horrified. "Never.”

Baz sighs as he takes his overly plush chair. “Very well, Mother. Our home will remain unreachable by motor vehicle.”

“Absolutely. I like nature to remain unfettered in it’s growth.” She turns to me with her kind, subtle smile. “And how are you, Simon?”

I smile back, hiding my fidgeting fingers under the table. “I’m good, Mrs- Natasha.”

She tilts her head slightly. “Are you sure? You seem tense, love.”

Wow, she’s perceptive. That’s kind of cool. Just not right now, when I want to look good for them. “Uh, no, I’m really okay. Just...not used to a fancy set up like this. My flatmate and I usually eat take away in front of the telly.”

Natasha and Baz laugh, sounding almost the same. Malcolm has a half smile, which from what I’ve seen so far, is his equivalent of a face splitting grin.

“Well,” Baz starts, “I promise you, dinner is not usually this impressive. Like I told you, we only do this for Sundays and holidays. Hence why you were invited for today, right Mother?”

Natasha looks pointedly to the side, just showing where her lip quirks. “I have no clue what you mean, Basilton.”

I’m usually pretty oblivious, but I get that (I think). I chuckle with Baz and bump his hand under the table. He hooks a finger around mine. It’s stupid yet very comforting. That’s about half of what Baz and I do though. So not unusual, or unwanted.

All of a sudden, the kitchen doors fly open. Vera has a large silver platter with china plates. She passes them out in front of us with practiced ease. They all thank her kindly. Each one has some sort of fancy salmon drizzled in brown sauce and what I can now recognize as koshari. Yes! My stomach is roaring at me. I copy the way everyone unwraps their napkins and holds their fancy silver forks. I nearly drop my knife though, almost severing an artery. Now that would’ve been a spectacular obituary. “Simon Salisbury, dead at 19 because he’s a total nervous klutz at his friend’s family dinner.”

After a short silence for eating, surprisingly, Mr.Grimm is the one who speaks up. “So, Simon,” he starts, “how did you and Basilton meet?”

I have to hastily chew and swallow the delicious salmon. (I don’t usually like fish but this is damn good. Are all Grimm-Pitches food wizards?) “We, uh, met first day of classes actually. Same psych lecture. He said hi and stuff.”

“Yes, I did,” Baz interjects. “Simon came in late and was forced to sit next to me. Afterwards, he offered to walk me to my next class so I wouldn’t get lost. He’s very noble.”

I look down to try to hide my blush. “I don’t know. I was just trying to help.”

Baz affectionately bumps my shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short, love. You’re incredibly noble.” He turns back to his parents. “Simon’s going into social work, you know. He wants to work with foster children and orphans.”

That seems to grab Natasha’s interest. Her grey eyes light up. “Oh really? Caseworker or counsellor?”

“Um, probably caseworker first, while I’m young and can handle it. Then maybe I’ll go into private stuff.”

She looks extremely pleased, even if her expression isn't that, well, expressive. A small smile is worth a thousand grins, I think. “Sounds very smart. I admire social workers greatly.” Oh, well that’s very good. I don't know what to say, so I just nod thoughtfully. “I don’t know what Basil has told you,” Natasha continues, “but I’m headmistress at a school. Our mental health counsellor is a trained social worker, and I don’t what we’d do without her. Her work has helped so many students. You’re going into a very interesting profession, Simon.”

Dammit, as if my embarrassment could get any worse. She’s really nice. I just don’t know how to deal with compliments. “T-Thank you, Natasha. I hope to use it well.”

“As do I. And if you ever need advice, I'm sure our counsellor could offer some. Or a reference, if that would be more useful.”

I nearly drop my knife and stab myself again. I barely scramble to get it. “Oh, wow, that’s really great. Thank you!”

She nods graciously. “You’re very welcome. I would be happy to help you with your future career.” She stabs her salmon with a bit more force than necessary, silver and china clinking together loudly. “I’m happy to hear you’re getting a _useful_ degree.”

The temperature drops a solid two degrees. Oh, there’s that awkward conversation Baz mentioned. Not something enjoyable. Malcolm is focusing on his food, so I do the same. Baz sighs, shaking his head.

“Mother,” he says calmly, “we’re not having this discussion again.”

She raises one hand in surrender. “I’m just saying, social work degrees have prospects. What can you do with a music degree, Basil?

Baz drums his fingers on the table. The slow tap, tap, tap is the only sound in room for a long, awkward moment. “Well, like I’ve said before, once I’m done at Watford, I plan to get my masters at the Royal College of Music. Then I hope to join the London Symphony Orchestra. In summary, with a music degree, I can perform music professionally. Which is what I want to do.”

Natasha’s mouth turns down slightly. “But can you play music forever? What will you do when you no longer can?”

Oh! That gives me an idea! I look up from my food with a big smile. “Baz could go into teaching! Like you!”

I don’t expect applause for my brilliance, of course. But I also don’t expect Malcolm to choke on his food, Natasha to go dead silent, and Baz to laugh behind his hand. What the hell? What was wrong with what I said? I sink into my chair and fiddle with my jacket sleeve.

“S-Sorry,” I whisper. “I said something bad, sorry.”

“No, no.” Baz says still chuckling. “No, you said nothing wrong. You actually said something very right.” He gives Natasha a pointed look. “Didn’t he, Mother?”

Natasha rubs her crimson lips together, drumming her nails on the wooden table. “I suppose Simon has a point," she says slowly. "Though you’ll have to learn some patience to be a teacher, Basil. You can’t treat everyone like an idiot just because they aren’t as fast as you.”

“I don’t do that,” Baz grumbles.

“Oh really? Shall I call your former tutoring students from high school and ask?”

This time Baz sinks back, playing a bit with his koshari. “That wouldn’t be necessary. Your knowledge of me is...sufficient.”

Natasha smirks as she delicately cuts her fish. Malcolm looks as close to amused as he seems to be able to. Even I have to hide a smile, because of course Baz’s parents totally have his number. He still looks embarrassed though, face flushed and playing with his food. So I reach under the table and and wrap my pinky finger around his. Baz's body immediately relaxes, a breath leaving his lips. He hold my entire hand for a second, then goes back to his supper, still smiling. That’s enough to reassure me he's alright.

“So, Basilton,” Malcolm says, “what are your thoughts on the recently proposed federal economic policies?”

Baz makes a displeased noise. “I’m not a fan, to be honest. They’re making major cuts to arts funding in the name of ‘tightening belts’. Austerity has proven ineffective. It seems a bit ridiculous to me.”

“Arts aren’t exactly necessary, Basil.”

“Oh? Then throw away all your books, Father.”

Malcolm’s mouth twitches. He leans forward, doing that elbows-on-the-table, fingers-together thing Baz does occasionally. Fucking hell, it’s eerie. “What would you propose instead?"

“Well, first I’d start with cutting military spending.”

“We need the military.”

“Do we really need to give them so much though? Our wars are absolutely pointless and fuelled by the American’s need for oil. It would make more sense to invest on infrastructure projects than military endeavours.”

"It's important to protect our borders," Natasha says from behind her water glass.

"Our borders are surrounded by water," Baz counters.

The three start politely debate, falling into an easy discussion rhythm. It seems to be normal for them. It’s nice, to see something like this. They obviously enjoy each other’s company, even if it’s in a fucking weird academic way I don’t fully understand. I like this family. And I’m glad to have a friend with a family I like.

A really good friend, with a really nice family, what's better? But just a friend. Yeah...

* * *

 

“And that is Baz with his favourite toy, Paddington Bear.” Natasha points at the polaroid picture with a perfectly manicured nail. Baz is so tiny, especially next to the enormous stuffie. He’s squeezing it as much as much as he can with his small arms. I can’t see his face, some covered by his wavy black hair and the rest smushed into Paddington, but I’m pretty sure he’s smiling.

“Aw, he’s so cute!” I coo. “Look at his little bloomers!”

Natasha throws her head back laughing. She’s gotten way more expressive since she started drinking wine. “Oh, he hated those. But I agree, they’re adorable. And he looks so small with Paddington, it’s so sweet.”

I nod rapidly. “Yeah, that bear is gigantic. Insane birthday gift?”

“No, no, Christmas. My sister got it for Baz the year of my accident.”

I straighten up, a jolt of worry hitting my stomach. “Accident? Are you alright?”

Natasha chuckles. She reaches up and pinches my cheek like a grandma. I guess it’s nice, even though I’m 19. “You’re so nice, Simon. I don’t understand how my son got someone as nice as you.”

I shrug. “Uh, he was nice to me, I guess. He is nice.”

She chuckles. “Well, that's certainly something I'm glad to hear.” There’s a proud glint in her eye. “And I’m perfectly fine. I had a slip and fall at my school and injured my neck. I was in the hospital for quite awhile. Basil was only five, he was very worried. So Fiona bought him the Paddington. I think it’s still somewhere in storage.”

“We should get it out. Get a new picture of him with it. He could actually hug the whole thing now.”

A grin splits across her face. She places a kind hand on my shoulder. “That is an excellent idea. You’re very smart.”

Wow, wine does work fast. Not that I’m complaining. Being on drunk Natasha’s good side is still being on her good side. “T-Thank you.”

“I hope your parents are proud of you.”

I chuckle and shrug. “Well, I know my Mum is. My Dad isn’t around anymore.”

Her mouth falls open and her eyes get round. She puts a kind hand on my leg. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Simon.”

Oh fuck. Shit shit shit. I shake my head and wave my hands frantically. “No no, it’s not like that! My Dad isn’t dead, he’s just a twat!”

Natasha’s back straightens out, flat against her chair. She blinks rapidly. “Oh...I see” She takes a long drink from her glass. Fuck, I need to elaborate don’t I?

My leg is jittering before I even speak. “I-It’s not that bad,” I sputter. “My parents split when I was eleven. Mum took me to live with her, Dad stayed with his political activist friends. He’s always cared more about his causes than me. I haven’t talked with him a lot since. He’s just an arsehole. My Mum is super amazing though, so I’m fine. Don’t need him.”

That seems to reassure her. She smiles again. It’s slightly drunken and lopsided, but genuine all the same. She puts a rough hand on my cheek, thumb slowly dragging under my eye. “I think you are a very nice young man, Simon. I like you quite a lot.”

It’s strange how happy her praise makes me. I want her to approve of me. I put my hand over her’s. “Thank you, Natasha. I like you a lot too.”

She smiles and nods, sitting back in her chair with only a slight wobble. I turn the page of the album. There’s a little picture of Natasha in a hospital bed, holding a bundle in her arms. Obviously it’s an adorable baby Baz. Next to the photo is an old hospital bracelet with the words “T. B. Grimm-Pitch.” T. B. Hm...

“What’s the the T for?” I ask. “B is for Basilton, right? So what’s the T?”

Natasha’s mouth falls open. She looks positively flabbergasted. “He hasn’t told you?”

I shake my head. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Oh well, it’s-”

“None of your business, Snow.”

I groan and turn my head. Baz is strolling in with Mr. Grimm. They look like the height of sophistication with their beautifully carved crystal scotch glasses. Dammit. Of course their father-son library talk has to end now. I pout dramatically.

“You’re no fun, Baz,” I whine.

He puts a hand on my shoulder, grip not too tight but enough to signal as a warning. “I value my few secrets, that’s all. One of those is my unfortunate first name.”

“It’s a family name, be proud,” Natasha says sharply. She glares at Baz as she sips her wine. He glares right back over his own glass.

“It’s a ridiculous name. Even Father thinks so.”

Malcolm pointedly looks at a wall. “I’m not getting in the middle of this again,” he says then drinks his scotch. Smart man.

Baz rolls his eyes, and so does Natasha. But all have a little half smile. I think I’m starting to understand their family body language. And maybe understand them even. Man, that’s weird. But also cool.

“Well,” Baz says grandly, patting my shoulder for emphasis, “I think it’s been a long day and night. So Simon and I should turn in. Thank you for supper, we’ll see you both in the morning.”

Natasha waves at us, a bit wobbly but not uncontrolled. “Good night, boys. It’s been lovely talking to you, Simon.”

Baz sharply tugs me to my feet, then he pushes me towards the stairs. I try to wave back as Baz shoves me. “Uh, lovely talking to you too! Good night, Natasha! Night, Mr. Grimm!”

They both raise their glasses at me, Natasha grinning ear to ear and Malcolm’s mouth pulled up in a half smile. But the next instant they’re out of sight, because Baz is being _very_ insistent on us moving. He grabs my hand and gets me to practically run down the carpeted hall with him. He flings open the door and brings us inside.

“Well that was fun,” I say. “Your mum likes me. A lot more when she’s drunk, apparently. Your dad is nice too, though he seems more clos- mmph!”

Baz cuts me off. With his mouth. He’s kissing me with so much force I nearly fall over. I have to flap my arms flap like a goddamn bird to stay upright. Baz clutches both sides of my face tightly, snogging me for all I'm worth. Lips moving fervently, practically shoving his tongue down my throat. It’s like he’s trying to eat me or something. We’ve kissed before of course, but never like this. With so much...lust. And it’s kind of hot.

We break apart, both panting, foreheads together. Baz’s hands trail slowly down my neck. I bunch his jacket in my fists, keeping him close.

“Damn,” I laugh under my breath. It’s all I can manage to say.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispers. “Ever since you stood up to my Mum. I love her, but she’s such an academic snob. You were so amazing.”

I shrug my shoulders up high. “I don’t know about that. I was just being honest.”

He sighs heavily. “Just take the damn compliment and kiss me, Snow.”

Oh yeah, I’m good with that. “Sure thing.”

We kiss again, our mouths meeting with equal force. I clench my fist in his hair, smooth strands sliding through my fingers. Baz pushes off my suit jacket. I gladly let it fall to the floor. He walks forward, making me stumble back towards the bed until my arse unceremoniously hits the mattress. I have to scramble up on it, laying down just in time for Baz to throw both legs over my waist. Is he straddling me? Does it still count when you’re laying down? Wait, no, his tongue is in your mouth, Simon, focus!

The two of us get even more heated. We’re panting, groaning, moving our hands all over each other, feeling every part of our bodies. Baz is grinding down on me with absolutely no shame. I push at Baz’s jacket, which he eagerly throws down to join mine. He starts undoing the buttons of my shirt, nearly ripping a few off.

“Careful,” I giggle.

“No,” he grumbles. “Ugh, why is shirt so damn hard to get off?”

“It’s your shirt, you tell me.” He finally gets the last button undone, sweeping both sides of the it away and exposing my torso. “There you go. Nice job.”

My voice is dripping with sarcasm. I've learned a lot from him and Penny. He glares. I can see his knife sharp gaze even in the mostly dark room. “Shut up.”

I lean up on my forearms, hoping he can see my smirk. “Make me.”

Even though I can barely see his face, only illuminated by moonlight, I swear his pupils double in size. They’re almost entirely black. Huh, we’ve slept together before, but I didn’t realise I had such an effect on him. It’s...nice. Strange, but nice.

Baz kisses me hard again, forcing me down on the mattress. I push back. He kisses like a fight, and I never back down from a fight. He drags a hand over my chest, down my stomach, making me shudder violently. Baz chuckles against my mouth. Oh, thinks this is funny huh? Alright, his turn. I use one leg to flip the bastard onto his back, so quickly we bounce on the old mattress. He laughs softly, reaching up to drag his calloused fingers behind my ear. It sends a full body shudder through me.

“Eager,” he teases, and I just grunt. Yeah, well, I’ll make him eager too.

I undo his top few buttons and latch my mouth onto his skin. I slowly work my way up and down his neck. Which drives him crazy, as I’ve learned over the last month we’ve been doing this. His breathing gets progressively laboured each passing minute. He puts a hand under my shirt, nails digging deep into the flesh of my back. It stings, yet it feels amazing. I never realised something could hurt so _good_ before him. I sink my teeth right above his shoulder. Baz’s back arches and he moans right in my ear. I really like that sound. Every time I hear it I instantly think, _keep doing whatever the fuck I’m doing._ So I bite harder, and he moans louder. Our hips buck together. The friction is driving me insane. God, I’m going to lose it before I get my pants off.

I pull back, looking down at his face. We’re both panting. The moon lights him up perfectly, accenting the faint flush in his cheek. I love the way his dishevelled black hair fans out over the white pillow case like a dark halo. I smile, and he does too, his white teeth shining like stars. As if his smile could be even more dazzling.

“Think your parents can hear us?” I whisper. Baz lets out the smallest laugh, breath puffing against my skin.

“No,” he replies hushed. “We’re fine, don’t worry.”

“You sure? Cause your Mum likes me and I don’t want to ruin that.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically. _“Yes_. They're downstairs right now, and even so, their room is on the other side of the house. We could commit mass murder in here and they’d never know.”

I slip down and laugh against his cheek. “Alright, alright, fine, I believe you. So now...”

I reach down and deftly unbutton his trousers. That’s something I’ve gotten good at over the past month. I shift myself halfway down his body in one smooth motion, hovering over his tight stomach. He looks down at me with wide, awe filled eyes, breathing unsteady. I grin devilishly look up at him. It’s been a good night, I’m feeling happy, and a bit bold. I always feel bolder with Baz, honestly. But especially right now.

“Let me show you how much _I_ like _you,_ ” I practically purr.

I pull down his trousers and take him in my mouth. Baz’s head falls back with a loud moan, his hand winding in my hair. And I think I could listen to that sound forever.

* * *

 

I wake up to music. Not my kind of music, which is usually something from the Top 40, but classical violin.

I slowly open my eyes. The sun is still rising, soft light pouring in the narrow open window. I’m on my stomach, tangled in the white sheets, face smushed into the pillow. Baz is sitting next to the window with his violin on his arm. My vision adjusts, taking in the details. He’s sitting in an armchair, one leg cross over another, head turned towards his instrument. He’s wearing more than what he fell asleep in (which was nothing), but it's still not a lot. Just one of my long shirts and his Calvin Klein boxers. His black hair is pulled up on top of his head in a messy man bun. It should be stupid but it looks good on him. (Anything looks good on him). He drags the bow and moves his fingers with laser like precision. Every beautiful morose note resonates perfectly. I can almost see them float through the room, bobbing and weaving, creating a blanket of song. He looks calm, eyes closed behind his glasses, face completely relaxed, just focusing on the music.

This is the first time I’ve heard him play. Of course he’s brilliant, and the piece is incredible. But I never really thought about how peaceful he’d look while playing. And yeah, he looks good in a suit with his hair slicked back, but he looks good like this too. Messy, dressed down, calmly doing what he loves.

Baz finishes the piece. He lowers the violin as his eyes slowly open. Our gazes meet across the short distance. He smiles softly. I smile back.

“Hi,” I say, voice scratchy from sleep.

“Good morning,” he replies. He carefully puts his instrument on the side table, treating it like the finest fancy china. “Sorry for waking you. I wanted to practice before breakfast.”

I hum and lazily wave my hand. “It’s fine. I liked it.”

“Really? It’s a bit classical for your tastes, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s still really pretty. And you’re really, really good. You’re going to get into that fancy orchestra someday.”

Baz laughs sardonically. “If you say so, love.”

I frown at him. I’m pretty sure I look like a pissy toddler, but I’m too groggy to care. “No, really, Baz, I mean it. You’re gonna get into an orchestra one day and play all the music you want.”

He seems shocked for moment, but it quickly turns into a kind smirk. Only Baz could make a smirk seem kind. “Well, in that case, I’ll be sure to invite you to my inaugural performance.”

“Mm,” I hum, snuggling happily into my pillow. “Looking forward to it.” I stretch out my sleep stiff legs and aching back like a cat. “Y’know this is the first time you’ve played in front of me.”

“Really? I didn’t realise I hadn’t gotten around to it.”

“Yeah. You’ve been holding out on me, arsehole.”

Baz chuckles. “Apologies, love. Did you like it?”

“Uh-huh. You’re really good. You should play for me more.”

“I’ll make note.” He picks up a small carton from next to his violin. It’s only when he takes out a cigarette do I realise what he’s doing. I’m surprised and a little terrified.

“You smoke?” I ask with more fear and horror than I meant to. It’s his choice I guess. Still, of course I’m worried about him. It’s not great for you.

Baz takes a drag and lets a long smoky sigh out the window. “Not as much anymore. I used to chain smoke in high school but I’m trying to quit. Still, nicotine is one hell of addiction. I’m done to one smoke every two weeks.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “You don’t approve?”

I shrug, tracing patterns on my pillows. “I’m just worried because it’s bad for you. But it’s up to you, I guess. ”

His lip quirks up in a smirk. That expression is as natural as breathing to him. “Thank you for the consideration of my autonomy and well being. I’ll certainly keep your comments in mind.”

I playfully scoff under my breath. “You care what I think?”

I mean it as a joke, but Baz look serious. His thin lips turn into an even thinner line. He takes one last drag, then puts out the barely half finished cigarette while looking me right in the eye. “Yes,” he says firmly, “I do.”

That knocks the air out of lungs. I think my face turns cherry red. I can’t help but smile. My heart feels too full not to. “Well, good, cause I care what you think too.”

He smiles again, and it’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. I’ve never missed a smile so much before him. I feel different things for him than I feel for Penny. Different than my best friend...

Baz picks up his violin. He’s about to put it back into its black case. “You don’t have to stop,” I blurt out. Baz gives me a curious look. “You could, uh, keep playing if you want. I don’t mind.”

His eyes look brighter, his smile getting bigger. “Very well, if you insist.”

He picks up the instrument once more. It fits perfectly on his long arm. The bow drags over the strings, sound soft and soothing. I let my eyes slide closed. The music drifts through the air like a soft cooling breeze. It lulls me back into sleepiness. It’s beautiful. It’s a beautiful thing Baz does. He's playing violin for me while I lay naked in his bed. It's incredible, but is it that something a friend would do? It’s something _we_ do, so does that make a friend thing? Or...is it actually a boyfriend thing?

I don’t know. And honestly, even though I’m straight, I’m not sure I’d mind being his boyfriend. Because of moments like this.

* * *

 

Leaving the Grimm-Pitch house is perfectly pleasant. We have a nice breakfast, chat about boring things, then get ready to go. Natasha kisses my cheeks. Mr. Grimm shakes my hand but not hard enough it hurts this time. Vera hugs me so tightly I can’t breathe. They all wave us off from the porch. Overall, not a bad goodbye.

I sleep through most of the trip again, occasionally waking up to berate Baz for changing the radio to his boring news. He claims I need to be informed on relevant issues to be social worker. I claim Arianna Grande is more important than anything. We compromise on half boring news, half awesome amazing pop music. Honestly, anything is fine. I’m just enjoying the trip with him.

Baz drops me off at my flat and graciously offers to help me with my bag. But I know if he comes upstairs, he won’t leave for a few hours and I need to revise. He’s understanding, of course. He’s amazing.

“Want to take a walk Thursday?” He asks, head poking out of the window. “The park is lovely this time of year.”

“Yeah sounds good.” I lean on the window sill with my arms folded. Our faces are so close I can study the different shades of grey in his eyes. “This was really fun. I’m glad I came.”

Baz reaches forward and cups my cheek, tips of his fingers grazing my hair. “Me too.”

I tilt my head and kiss him chastely. Just a brief peck before pulling away. He chases my mouth for one more. It makes my head spin and heart stutter. Fuck, Penny may have a point.

“Bye, love,” he whispers.

“Bye, love,” I repeat. It feels so natural now.

We smile at each other one more time before he drives off. I watch the car as it goes. And I find myself really, really looking forward to Thursday.

I go upstairs, and Penny surprisingly isn’t there. She must either be out with Micah or with a study group. Whatever. More leftover lunch for me. After promptly kicking off my shoes and dropping my gym bag in the middle of the floor, I raid the fridge for some cold pizza. No point in heating it up, in my opinion. Pizza is pizza is pizza.

The second I collapse on the sofa, of course my mobile rings. I think it’s Baz for a sec, that I left something in the car, but the caller ID says “Mommy Dearest.” I don’t know why she listed herself like that. Pretty sure she didn’t pay attention to that movie at all when we watched it last Christmas. I hit the green button.

“Hey, Mum,” I chirp.

“Hello, darling,” she replies. Her voice is always very comforting, my body immediately relaxing when I hear it's sound. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Just eating cold pizza, living my best life.”

Her sigh is particularly loud over the phone. “Simon, I worry about your eating habits.”

I scoff, nearly spewing food on our already dirty couch. “You’re always worried, Mum, it’s your job.”

“But you’re not making it any easier!” We both laugh. Her laugh is so pretty, soft and caring and joyful. I love uni, but I do miss her a lot.

“What’s up, Mum?” I ask through my pizza. “Why are you calling?”

She makes a very offended noise. “Do I need an excuse to call my son?”

“No, but there’s usually a reason. You're a nosy worry wart.”

“Oh, you know me too well. It’s so annoying.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You did raise me.”

“That I did,” she sighs. “That I did. Where did I go wrong?”

“Oi!”

She laughs her joyous sunshine laugh again.. “You’re too easy, love.”

“Shut up,” I grumble. “Seriously, what is it, Mum? I’ve got revision.”

“Okay, okay. Well, I was wondering, who’s Baz?”

I nearly drop my phone and choke on my food. Now that would be a way to go. Choking to death on pizza from the shock of your mother asking about your friend-but-possible-boyfriend-even-though-you’re-straight. Worse than clumsy artery severing, honestly.

“Simon? You alright, love?” Mum asks.

“Yeah,” I say, voice still hoarse. “Yeah, I’m fine. But um, how do you hear about Baz?”

“Well, Penny and I were talking-”

“Mum,” I groan. “I asked you two to stop that. I don’t need my Mum and best friend talking behind my back.”

“Sorry, darling,” she says in a way that tells me she’s not sorry. “And I only talk to her because you don’t tell me anything about your love life! Now, who is he? Is he cute? Is he nice? When are you going to bring him over? I need to know everything!”

I try to rub the lines out of my forehead. “Did Penny tell you Baz was my boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Mum!" I yell. "You two need to stop trading notes about me behind my back! It's so annoying and invasive!” Mum is silent. I groan and rub my face even harder. “Sorry, Mum, really sorry. That was really rude.”

“Apology accepted, Simon,” she says in her kindest voice, and I know she means it. “I’m sorry too, love. Honestly, Penelope and I were just chatting about other stuff and it came up in passing. She just said you two were together and I assumed she was right. So this Baz bloke really isn’t your boyfriend?”

“Well, no, I don’t think so. But...” I groan and fall back on the sofa, arm thrown over my face. “Honestly, Mum? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. Nothing makes sense and my head hurts.”

Over the phone, I can hear my mum shifting. She’s probably sitting in her listening position. Leaning forward, legs open, one arm over her lap. When I was little, that meant I could tell her anything. I can still visualize it easily.

“Want to talk about it?” She said softly.

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my eyes. “Want to? No. Have to? Probably.”

“Okay. What is it, love?”

“It’s just-” Ugh, words are hard. “It’s just...I do like Baz. A lot. He’s nice and smart and sarcastic and I like hanging around him. I feel connected to him like I've never felt to anyone before. But I’ve always thought of him as a friend. Which I’m fine with. It’s just now, I’m wondering if we’re...not simply friends.”

“What makes you think you’re not just friends?”

“Well, he calls me ‘love’ a lot, he kisses me hello, I just had dinner with his parents yesterday, I go to his place a lot and we sleep in the same bed, we have a lot of se-”

“Okay, okay, I get it, too much information. I’m still your mother, you know.”

“Sorry, Mum,” I chuckle. “But yeah, there’s some weird stuff, I guess.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she chuckles. “Simon love, think about it, if you were doing all this stuff with a girl, would you think you two were dating?"

Fuck, I never thought of it like that before. I should have, it's so goddamn obvious. My face heats up in embarrassment. "I guess," I mumble.

"So you can see why Penelope and I assumed you two were dating?"

"Yeah,” I sigh. She does have a point. I hate to admit it, but she really does. I roll onto my stomach, face pushed into the throw pillow. Maybe I could sink into the cushions and never emerge. “I just, I never thought of it as romantic myself, Mum. Because we never defined what we were. He's never called me his boyfriend. And on top of that, I’m straight!” I sigh as I run a hand through my hair. “Well, I thought I was. I’m not so sure anymore. But I don’t think I’m gay either. Not completely anyway. Maybe a little. It’s weird. I just don't know what I am. And honestly I didn’t want to think about something so complicated. But I just...I don’t know, Mum.”

“And that’s fine, love,” she says soothingly. “You don’t have to know what you are right now.”

“Really?” My voice is weak and nervous. That never occurred to me. Just not figure out what I am and live with it.

“Yes. Simon, of course. You don’t have to know what you are right away. It’s perfectly okay to not define yourself yet, or ever. As long as you're happy, why do you need to stress yourself out with a label? If you figure one out later, that's great. If not, that's also great. Does that make sense?”

I sigh, body and mind finally relaxing. I think I’ve heard this before in class, but it’s different hearing it from your Mum. “Yeah, it does. You’re right, Mum.”

“Of course I am.” I can just hear her nose pointing high in the air and the giant smug smile on her face. I roll my eyes.

“Yes, Mum,” I groan. “You’re very smart.”

“Duh. Now I have one more piece of smart, mother advice.”

“Oh? I’m _all_ ears.”

Mum makes a disgruntled noise. “When did you get so sarcastic?”

“Blame Penny and Baz.”

“I should,” she grumbles. “But really sweetie, my advice? Talk to Baz and define what your _relationship_ is, because you two need to be on the same page. Then go forward from there.”

I smile, hugging the pillow to my face and imagining it’s her. I plan to give her a really big hug the next time I see her. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mum. Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome. I love you, Simon.”

“I love you too, Mum. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

The phone clicks off. I let it fall from my hand, but stay on the sofa. Things are finally starting to make sense again. And hopefully on Thursday, Baz and I can sort through everything. But not right now. Right now, I really want to eat ice cream and watch Doctor Who. Then I’ll revise for psych, totally.

* * *

 

My head is on Baz’s shoulder. His fancy wool coat is scratchy on my cheek. He’s got an arm around me while the other flips the pages of his book. We’re sitting in the park, a short break from the walk so he can do readings and I can watch the the brightly coloured leaves falling from the branches. They’re so pretty. Like fire dancing in the air. Maybe I should grab them, make a leaf pile, jump around and get Baz to ju- Ugh, focus Simon, you have a mission here.

“Hey Baz?” I say quietly.

“Hm?” He replies. He never really pays full attention when he’s reading. That’s going to need to change in a few seconds.

I take a deep breath and try to stop fiddling with my fingers. Okay, here does nothing. “Are...are we boyfriends?”

That makes him look up from his book. He looks at me quizzically over his glasses. “Well,” he says slowly, “I assumed we were, considering we’ve been dating for over a month.”

“Oh,” I squeak, because my brain just short circuited a bit. I slowly up, Baz's arm falling off me. It takes a second for me to get my bearings. “So...we are dating?”

His brow adorably furrows. “I’ve certainly thought so."

"Since when? Have we, y'know, been dating. In your mind."

"Well, I'd say since our first date, the first time we went to Goat. But I only started calling you my boyfriend after supper at my place. So at least since then."

"Alright, okay, okay," I stutter out. Fuck, for that long? It never even occurred to me that our first lunch was a date. 

"Simon, is everything alright?" He asks. "Do you think we're causal or something? Because you’re the only guy I’ve been seeing. I like you a lot.”

Well, I think my brain has melted now. It's dribbling out my ears onto the leaf covered grass. “O-Oh. We’re exclusively dating, for over a month. That’s, cool. Good to know, good to know.”

“Yes, that’s what I assumed. Do you think we aren’t?” I shrug. It's all I can think to do. “Simon,” he chuckles, turning his whole body to face me, “what on earth do you think we've been doing this whole time?”

I slump forward, elbows on knees and hands covering my burning face. “You're gonna think I'm stupid,” I groan

Baz’s hands peel mine away, resting them between us. He’s smiling, face lovely and kind. “I promise I won't.”

He’s so nice. How the Hell did I end up around him? I smile weakly back. “No, you will. And you'll be right.” His eyebrow lifts up (He’s so good at that it's ridiculous.) I look down at my feet. “I, uh, I've sort of thought I was straight this whole time, and that we were just _really_ good friends. Until Monday, or honestly just right now.”

Baz is silent for a long moment. I slowly look up. He doesn’t look cross, or even that shocked, just incredibly confused. His eyebrows are close to his hairline. He blinks rapidly. “So,” he says slowly, “you thought we were, bros with benefits?”

I shift uncomfortably on the bench. “Um, yes?”

“Even after we started kissing hello, sleeping over together at my place, and calling each other love all the time?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

_“Even_ after I took you all the way to Hampshire to meet my parents?”

My head falls down. “Yes...” We're quiet for a long moment. There's just the rustling of leaves and distant sound of people in the air. It’s broken when Baz loudly  snorts. Then he starts full on howling with raucous, joyous laughter. He doubles over with a hand over his stomach. I slap his stupid muscular shoulder. “Shut up! I told you you’d think I was stupid!”

“No, no, I don't think you're stupid.” The fact that he’s still giggling doesn’t help his point. “I just think you're just a bit oblivious. And blinded by heteronormativity.”

My face pinches together. “I don’t know what that means.”

He straightens up and looks at me with kind, caring eyes. “It means, society makes you think straight is the default sexuality, and that you could never be anything else. Did you not learn that in first year of social work?”

I think back to some of my lectures last year. But I also remember my never ending exhaustion. “Um, I probably slept through that class by accident...”

Baz snickers. I slap his shoulder again. He takes both my hands, callouses scratching my skin wonderfully, still looking at me with nothing but affection. My knees get all wobbly and weak. “Look, Simon, if you’re actually straight, that's fine. It’s not like I’m going to hold your sexuality against you. Or if you simply don't want a relationship with me, that's fine too. I like you, sure, but I obviously don't want to be with someone who doesn't want to be with me.”

“No!" I yell immediately. "No, no, no, not that.” I shake my head violently and grip his hands tight. “No, Baz, that’s definitely not what I want.”

His deep sea eyes completely light up, and his smiles turns into a full grin. It's only then that I see all the tension in his body, watching his shoulders relax and body fall towards me. “Really?”

I nod so hard my neck hurts. “Yeah, definitely. I like you a lot too, Baz. In a romantic way. It just took me awhile to realise it. I guess, I never really saw myself dating a guy before.”

“But,” he says slowly, as if not to scare me off, “you see yourself doing that now? With me?”

“Yeah. I still don’t think I’m gay though. Not completely anyway. But I do like being with you, and you’re a guy. So, definitely not straight either, I guess.”

We both chuckle softly. Baz shifts forward, leg pressed against mine. “Okay, understood. So, what does that mean for us? Are we just dating now but not before? Is this all reset?”

I’ve been indecisive for a month, trying not to think about something that would change how I think of myself. What an idiot I've been. I’m done with that bollocks. There’s no question now. I thread my fingers between his, pushing myself even closer to him.

“Nah,” I say. “I like what we’re doing. Let’s just keep going. Except now I know _what_ we’re doing.”

Baz giggles, and it makes my heart speed up. “Well, I can certainly live with that. But just to make sure there’s no more confusion.” He looks me right in the eye, grin completely enveloping the bottom half of his pretty face. My heart is beating out of my chest. “Simon,” he says firmly, “would you like to be my boyfriend?”

I laugh. loudly and joyously. I can’t help it, he’s just so cute. Yeah, I definitely want this. I definitely want him. “Yeah, I would. Want to be mine?”

“Absolutely.” We both laugh this time, foreheads falling together. Our hands clutch each other as we sit still, just being quiet and happy in silence for awhile. I think I’d be content to stay here forever. “May I kiss you?” he whispers, breath tickling my lips. “Because I really want to kiss you right now.”

I puff out a small laugh. “Yeah, yeah, definitely.”

He cups a hand around my cheek and pulls my mouth to his. I melt into it instantly, arms wrapping around his lovely long neck. We sit there for a long time. Just kissing slowly on a park bench, fire coloured leaves falling around us, autumn breeze whistling in the trees. It’s like a scene out of one of my romcoms. It's stupidly, wonderfully perfect.

And to think this all started because I was late for class.

* * *

  
_Status Update:_ **Simon Salisbury** is in a relationship with **Basil Grimm-Pitch**  
**Penelope Bunce:** I KNEW IT!!!!!  
**Lucy Salisbury:** Happy for you sweetheart  <3  
**Fiona Pitch:** You hurt my nephew I kill you  
**Basil Grimm-Pitch:** Fiona, stop.  
**Ebeneza Petty:** Wait does this mean you two just get together? Haven't you been together since September? Huh? o_O  
**Simon Salisbury:**  i’ll explain it all to you on Saturday Ebb :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww they're happy :) And Simon has accepted that he's not straight and actually dating Baz. Yay! And finally there is the request kiss this fic is supposed to be fulfill haha. Hope you liked this resolution! So this is the end of the main story, but because I'm romantic fool who loves this story, there's a short epilogue. It'll be posted tomorrow :)


	4. love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for pure tooth rotting fluff :)

“Tyrannus.”

My eyes open slightly. It takes awhile to get my brain back online and realise Baz has said something. Neither Baz or I have spoken in at least an hour. He’s sitting upright in my bed while he reads, and he’s always laser focused on his books. I don’t mind. I’ve been happily wrapped around his side like a smitten boa constrictor. It’s one of the many things I’ve found I love doing with Baz.

I lift up my head a bit from Baz’s side. Baz is looking ahead, glasses on his head, book still open. His expression doesn’t show anything, which can actually show more when it comes to Baz.

“What?” I whisper, voice scratchy from disuse.

Baz closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “My first name, it’s Tyrannus.”

My brain is still in sleep-mode, so it takes me some extra time to process exactly what he’s saying. But slowly, a grin spreads across my face. I feel giddy, like I’m I’ve been given keys to an entire warehouse filled with scones. “Seriously?”

Baz nods slowly. His face is still neutral, but I can see his fingers nervously drumming on his book cover. “Yes.”

“Your full name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch?”

He sighs, head tilting back against the wall with his eyes closed. “Yes.”

I burst out into loud, snorty laughs. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. I have to muffle the noise somewhat in his silk pyjama shirt. This is the most I’ve laughed at anything. Which is ridiculous but I can’t stop. Baz sighs again and strokes my hair.

“Get it out, Snow,” he says, both exasperated and amused. “Knew you’d appreciate this.”

“You really are, a gothic romance villain!” I sputter.

“Yup. I should be living in a decrepit castle with an unkindness of ravens, I know.”

I lift my head up as I wipe a laughing tear from my eye. “Where the hell did a name like that come from?”

Baz grunts, something I think he’s picked up from me. “It’s a Pitch family name. My mother insisted upon it. But no one calls me bloody Tyrannus, obviously.”

“Obviously.” I shimmy up his body, resting my chin on his bony shoulder with one leg still thrown over his. “Why are you telling me now?”

He puts his book down so he can wrap his strong arms around my torso. His smirk is unbelievably smug. “Have you ever heard of not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Snow?”

I roll my eyes. “Well, yeah. I’m just confused. I’ve been asking about your name on and off for months and you’ve always said no. So, why now?”

“Well,” Baz sighs, “I don’t like telling people my name because it’s ridiculous, but I knew you would thoroughly enjoy it. So I thought, ‘what’s a better six month anniversary present than making Snow laugh his beautiful arse off with my stupid name?’”

My brow pulls together. “What? It’s not-”

“Look at the clock, love.” He tilts his chin behind me. I twist around, and lo and behold, the clock reads 12:07 in glowing red numbers. It’s officially been our six month anniversary for seven minutes. I turn back to him with a huge smile and full heart.

“You sap,” I whisper. “And here I thought you were just going to make me breakfast.”

“Oh, I’m still doing that.” He dances his fingers up my back, bursts of sensation exploding across my skin. “I was thinking cherry pancakes and chocolate milk, because you are actually twelve.”

My stomach is grumbles instantly, and Baz snickers. Ugh, I adore him, but he’s such a bastard. I poke his shoulder with more force than necessary. “Keep talking like that and you won’t get _your_ anniversary present.”

His face is unbelievably smug, lip quirked and thin eyebrow raised. “Oh? And that would be such a loss for me?”

I narrow my eyes. Oh he wants to be like that, huh? I smile and use one leg to grind down on his crotch, hard. Baz yelps and jolts like he’s touched an expose wire, clinging to me so hard I can feel his nails through my shirt. He glares at me with his razor sharp grey eyes, and I put on the biggest shit eating grin I can.

“Yes,” I purr, “you certainly would.”

“Bastard,” he grumbles.

“Aw, harsh words, _Tyrannus.”_

He groans, letting his loll back as he rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to regret telling you, aren’t I?”

“Maybe. But...” I throw my legs over him, full on straddling his waist with arms draped across his shoulders. “I’m glad you did. Thanks for telling me.”

His face melts. I love when it does that. Every bit of muscle tension just fades away, replaced with simple calm happiness. He holds my waist, pressing us chest to chest. “You’re very much welcome, love. I’m happy to tell you anything.” Baz puts a strand of hair behind my ear and traces my jaw with one callused finger. That still makes me shudder. “I trust you, Simon.”

Damn. Six months later, and he still makes my heart melt into a goopy puddle. I smile as I lean down to kiss him. He kisses me back, and we fall into a familiar rhythm. His cool lips fit into mine like they were made for each other. My hands bury themselves in his soft hair. He runs those amazing callused violinist fingers across the small of my back. We know each other so well now, even better than before if that's possible. I tug on his hair just right to get him to moan into my mouth. And he reciprocates by digging his nails into my skin, pushing a gasp and shudder out of me. Fuck, I adore him, I’m crazy about him, shit, I-

“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth.

Baz’s whole body freezes up. He pulls away from my lips with a wet pop, head almost slamming against the headboard. His pupils are huge in his wide eyes. He’s holding on to my hips with a death grip. We’re both panting, our heavy breathing loud in the night quiet room. Fuck. He looks so freaked out. I’m absolutely panicking. My heart is beating like a rabbit’s. I look down at the mattress.

“S-Sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t chew my words. That was impulsive. It just slipped out. D-Don’t feel like you have to say it back. I-”

“Do you mean it?” His voice is small, like a hopeful child. I look up again. His eyes are still wide. And his swollen red lips are slightly parted. It’s unbelievably distracting, which I don’t really need to be right now. I gulp down the lump in my throat. I may say stuff impulsively, but I wouldn’t lie about this.

I meet his eyes and nod slowly. “Yeah, I do.”

Everything happens far too fast. Suddenly, I’m flipped over on my back and pressed into the bed by the most intense kiss of my life. It makes my head spin, my toes curl, and stars explode behind my eyes. Baz keeps one hand on my face and the other over my heart. This kiss is even more all consuming than the one at Hampshire those many months ago. I feel like I’m about the melt into the mattress and through the floor until I hit the core of the Earth. And I’d be fine with it, because I’d die by Baz kissing me.

He finally pulls away. It takes us both far too long to catch our breaths. Baz keeps our foreheads and noses touching. He runs his bony finger over my cheek again and again. Even that is too overwhelming to let me to speak.

“I love you,” Baz whispers. “I love you so much, Simon. God, I've loved you almost since we met.”

All the air instantly leaves my lungs. I pull him down for another world stopping kiss. Our mouths move fervently, my hands clinging to his hair, him gripping my face. It’s like we’re over eager teenagers snogging in the back of a car. And I love it. I love _him,_  so fucking much.

We separate when the unfortunate need for oxygen takes over. Baz hugs me, crushing us together, smiling against my cheek. “I thought I’d say it first,” he whispers playfully.

I laugh and wrap my arms around his back. “Well, I’m just full of surprises.”

His breathy laugh hits my face. “That you are, love.” Baz kisses just under my ear. Affectionate sap. ”Happy anniversary, Snow.”

“Mm.” I squeeze him even tighter. “Happy anniversary, Tyrannus.”

“Arsehole,” he grumbles. “Why do I love you again?”

“Because I’m nice and cute and _really_ good in bed.”

Baz makes a dismissive noise. “I’d say adequate at best.”

I pinch his ankle with my toes and attempt to knee his stomach, but I don’t have enough room. I just sort of tap it, which makes him chuckle. “Bastard!”

“You love me,” he purrs.

Damn, he’s right. I love this stupid, teasing arsehole. So I kiss him again. We snog and laugh, rolling around my bed like idiots. I don’t know what we’re doing. Just tumbling and trying to grope every part of each other we can, it seems. Whatever. I’m having fun, with the man I love. Bloody Hell, I’m going to love calling him that.

There’s a banging on the other side of the wall, making Baz and I separate.

“Would you two keep it down?!” Penny’s voice is muffled, but I know she’s shouting. “It’s the middle of the night, you horny arseholes!”

“Give us a break, Pen!” I shout back. “It’s our six month anniversary and we’re in love!”

“Good for you! Shut up!”

Baz and I giggle together, still completely wrapped up in each other. He shimmies down and tucks his head under my chin, arms wrapping snug around me. He likes doing that, even though I’m shorter. He likes being close to me too.

“I love you,” he whispers against my chest. 

I hold him tighter and nuzzle against his soft hair. I may have taken a strange journey of introspection and heteronormativity to end up here, but it was worth it. To be with Baz. Incredible, kind, gorgeous Baz. I’m so glad I met him. I’m so glad I fell in love with him.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finished this fic, then realised the whole "Baz's first name" was never resolved. I couldn't think of any way to integrate it in naturally, so here's this. Also wanted them admitting their love for each other. Baz and Simon deserve to confess their love in any universe! Thank you for all so much for your kudos, likes, comments, and reblogs. They mean the world to me. You guys always make me smile :)
> 
> So I've got a couple more requests to get through, but I'm also working on my big bang, so idk if I'll finish them/post anything new before January. But I'll always been reblogging snowbaz shit on my blog, so stick around for that haha. Thank you all again. Hope you enjoyed this ridiculous fic! :D


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